Hey everyone! Hope you’re all having a good day ❤️ I have some ideas lined up that I’m on with for over the weekend. My inbox is open if anyone has any requests they’d like. Just let me know and I’ll do my best to complete them ❤️
There were a lot of things Y/N loved about Lando Norris.
His laugh was probably her favourite sound in the world. She loved how competitive he became over the smallest of things, turning everything from Mario Kart to making pancakes into a championship deciding event. She loved the way he’d naturally reach for her hand whenever they walked anywhere together, never even seeming to realise he was doing it. She loved how effortlessly he could make her laugh after the worst day imaginable.
After a year together, she’d fallen in love with every little part of him.
Well… almost every part. Because there was one thing she loved more than she cared to admit.
His accent.
She had absolutely no idea why it affected her the way it did. It wasn’t as though she’d never heard an English accent before. She’d watched enough interviews, listened to enough podcasts and met enough people from the UK that it should have been completely normal.
But for some reason Lando’s was different. Maybe it was because she’d grown so used to hearing his voice. Maybe it was the way certain words sounded when he was tired. Maybe it was how his accent became even stronger whenever he was excited, teasing her or talking to his family back home.
Whatever the reason… it had an almost embarrassing effect on her. Every single time.
If he casually called her “love” from across the room, she’d suddenly forget what she’d been doing. If he quietly muttered “you alright?” while wrapping an arm around her waist, she’d have to remind herself how to form a coherent sentence.
And whenever he laughed before speaking… she was finished. It was ridiculous, completely ridiculous. The worst part? Lando had no idea.
As far as he knew, she was simply listening to him. He never noticed the tiny smile she tried to hide. Never noticed the faint pink creeping onto her cheeks whenever he spoke softly to her. Never noticed how she’d suddenly avoid eye contact for a few seconds. She’d become surprisingly good at disguising it over the past year.
If he caught her staring, she’d blame it on getting distracted. If she smiled for no apparent reason, she’d insist she was thinking about something funny. If her face felt a little too warm… well, she’d just hope he didn’t notice.
Thankfully, he never did. Unfortunately for her, someone else did. And that someone happened to be Carlos Sainz. After all, he’d known Lando long before she’d started dating him. Which meant he also knew exactly how oblivious his best friend could be.
A few days into the summer break, the three of them found themselves escaping the Monaco heat by ducking into one of the cafes overlooking the harbour. It had become something of a tradition.
Whenever Carlos happened to be in Monaco at the same time as Lando, one of them would inevitably suggest lunch. Sometimes there would be a bigger group, other times it was just the three of them like today. No racing, no media, no packed schedules. Just good food and even better company.
The waiter had barely taken their orders before the conversation was already flowing effortlessly. Carlos was recounting a story from a recent gold outing that had ended with one of his friends accidentally driving the buggy into a hedge.
“I swear,” Carlos laughed, “he told us he knew exactly what he was doing.”
“Clearly not.”
“He blamed the brakes.”
“The brakes?”
“Yes!”
Lando looked at Y/N with an amused smile. “People always blame the car.”
She laughed. “I wonder where he got that idea from.”
“Oi.”
“I’m just saying…”
“I have never blamed the car.”
Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Lando.”
“What?”
“You have.”
“I haven’t.”
“You definitely have.”
Lando looked between the two of them before throwing his hands into the air dramatically.
“Right apparently it’s let’s all target Lando day today.”
Y/N couldn’t help smiling. It wasn’t even what he’d said. It was how he said it. The soft English accent she’d heard almost every day for the past year somehow still managed to make her stomach flutter. She quickly took a sip of her drink before either of them noticed.
The conversation moved on to holidays plans, then somehow drifted to movies, before ending up with Lando passionately explaining why a particular video game deserved another chance despite Carlos insisting it was terrible.
“Mate it wasn’t that bad,” Lando argued.
“It was awful.”
“It really wasn’t.”
“It really was.”
“You just weren’t very good at it.”
Carlos placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “I’ll have you know I was excellent.”
“You lost bro.”
“Irrelevant.”
Y/N giggled quietly, watching Lando animatedly defend his opinion.
His sunglasses were resting on top of his curls, and he’d traded his usual sweatshirt and joggers for a simple white t-shirt and navy shorts. It was such a casual look but somehow suited him perfectly.
Maybe that was why today felt different. Maybe seeing him so relaxed, completely free from the constant pressure of Formula One, made him even more attractive than usual. Or maybe today, for whatever reason, his voice just seemed to hit differently. Every sentence, every laugh, every teasing comment aimed at Carlos. She found herself hanging onto every word without even meaning to. When he spoke, her attention naturally drifted towards him. When he laughed, she couldn’t help smiling. When he leaned a little closer to tell a story, she had to remind herself to actually listen to what he was saying instead of getting distracted by the sound of his voice.
“… and then Max just looked at me like I’d completely lost it,” Lando finished.
“Hm?” She replied automatically.
“You weren’t listening,” he chuckled.
“I was!”
“What did I just say then?”
“… You lost it?”
He laughed, the sound warm and effortless. “Close enough love.”
Her cheeks warmed instantly. Thankfully, Lando simply continued talking, blissfully unaware that she’d been too busy admiring his accent to pay attention to the story itself.
Across the table, Carlos took another sip of his coffee. His eyes flicked from Lando to Y/N then back again. He’d noticed it ten minutes ago.
Every time Lando spoke, Y/N’s expression softened ever so slightly. She’d look at him just a little longer than normal. A tiny smile would appear out of nowhere. And every now and then, the faintest pink would rise on her cheeks before she quickly looked away.
Carlos had seen enough couples to recognise that look. The amusing part was that Lando clearly hadn’t. He considered saying something right there and then but decided against it. This was far too entertaining to interrupt just yet. He’d wait until the right moment. After all, watching Lando remain completely clueless was almost as funny as watching Y/N try so hard to hide it.
A few minutes later, as the waiter cleared away their empty plates, Y/N glanced towards the back of the cafe.
“I’m just going to the bathroom,” she said, pushing her chair back. “I’ll be two minutes.”
“No problem sweetheart,” Lando smiled.
She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze as she walked past before disappearing through the cafe towards the ladies room.
The second she was out of earshot, Carlos set his glass down on the table. “Lando.”
“Hm?”
“I need to tell you something.”
Lando looked up from getting out his wallet. “What?”
Carlos tilted his head in the direction Y/N had disappeared. “She is absolutely gone over your accent.”
“…What?”
“Your accent.”
“What about it?”
Carlos laughed. “She loves it.”
Lando frowned in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m serious.”
Lando shook his head. “No, she’s never said anything.”
“Exactly.”
“So how do you know?”
Carlos gave him a look. “Because I’ve spent the last hour watching her.”
Lando’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve been watched my girlfriend?”
“Not like that you idiot,” Carlos rolled his eyes.
“I’m joking,” he smiled.
“Every single time you speak, she looks at you like you’ve hung the moon.”
Lando’s smile faded into one of confusion. “She does?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve literally never noticed.”
Carlos laughed, leaning back in his chair. “That’s because you’re unbelievably oblivious.”
Lando frowned as he tried to replay the last hour in his head. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.”
Carlos ticked points off on his fingers. “Every time you laugh, she smiled. You say one sentence, she forgets what she was doing. You asked her what you just said five minutes ago and she couldn’t answer because she was too busy listening to your voice.”
“Seriously?”
“I don’t even think she realises she’s doing it.”
“She… likes my accent?”
Carlos stared at him. “Lando.”
“What?”
“You’ve been together a year.”
“I know.”
“And you needed someone to point it out.”
He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “I mean… I just thought she liked… well me.”
Carlos laughed loudly enough to earn a glance from a nearby table. “She does like you.”
“Right.”
“But she also turns into a flustered mess every time you open your mouth.”
“No way.”
“I’m telling you.”
A slow grin spread across Lando’s face as the information sank in. “So…”
Carlos immediately recognised that smile. “Oh no.”
“What?”
“I know that look.”
“I don’t have a look.”
“You do.”
“It just means I’ve had an idea.”
Carlos groaned. “Please don’t torture the poor girl.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Lando.”
“I wasn’t!”
Carlos gave him a skeptical look. “You absolutely were.”
“Okay maybe just a little.”
Before Carlos could respond, they both noticed Y/N making her way back through the cafe. Almost instinctively, the conversation stopped.
Lando’s eyes met hers for a fraction longer than usual as she approached the table. “Everything okay?” She asked, sliding back into her seat.
“Yeah,” Lando replied smoothly, his expression giving absolutely nothing away.
Carlos took a sip of his drink to hide the smile threatening to appear. Y/N looked between the two of them. “What?”
“Nothing,” they answered perfectly in sync.
She narrowed her eyes at them both suspiciously. “I don’t believe either of you.”
Lando simply smiled innocently. “We were just waiting for you.”
She wasn’t entirely convinced, but let it go, reaching for her drink instead.
Across the table, Carlos caught Lando’s eye for a brief second. The smug grin on Lando’s face told him everything he needed to know. And judging by the way Lando kept stealing glances at his girlfriend, he was already trying to spot all the things Carlos had pointed out.
After insisting on paying the bill despite both Y/N and Lando offering, they thanks Carlos for lunch before heading their separate ways.
“See you soon,” Carlos said, pulling Lando into a quick hug before smiling at Y/N.
“Bye! Have a good rest of your break.”
“You too.”
As Carlos walked towards his car, he caught Lando’s eye for the briefest moment. A knowing smirk spread across the Spaniard’s face. Lando simply shook his head, trying, and failing not to laugh.
“What was that look for?” Y/N frowned.
“What look?”
“The one Carlos just gave you.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Hm.” She wasn’t convinced.
The drive back to Lando’s apartment was unusually peaceful. The radio hummed in the background while they chatted about what to do with the rest of the afternoon.
By the time they reached the apartment building, the Monaco sun was still beating down, bathing everything in a warm golden light.
Lando unlocked the door, stepping aside so she could walk in first. She slipped off her sandals near the entrance before wandering into the living room.
“I’m going to make a drink,” she called. “Do you want one?”
“No darling I’m okay.”
She disappeared into the kitchen, filling a glass with cold water knowing full well Lando would try and steal it.
Sure enough, as she returned to the sofa, Lando reached over and took a sip from her glass.
“I literally asked if you wanted one.”
“I changed my mind.”
“How convenient.”
“It is.”
She laughed, settling beside him on the sofa.
“So,” Lando began. “I learnt something today.”
“Oh?” She looked at him curiously.
“Mhm.”
“What did you learn?”
He turned slightly so he was facing her properly. “I learnt that my girlfriend has apparently been keeping a secret from me.”
The colour drained from her face. “What secret?”
“You tell me,” he watched her carefully.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t?”
She shook her head far too quickly. “Nope.”
Lando couldn’t stop himself from smirking. “Carlos told me something over lunch.”
“Okay… what did he say?”
“He said that you loved my accent.”
Y/N froze. “Oh.”
“Oh?”
She immediately looked down at her lap, suddenly finding the stitching on the sofa rather appealing.
“So then, he was right,” Lando’s smirk grew wider.
Her cheeks became red instantly. “I…” she let out an embarrassed laugh. “How does he even know?”
“So he was right then.”
She covered her face with both hands. “This is so embarrassing!”
Lando gently pulled her hands away, grinning from ear to ear. “Why?”
“Because it is!”
“It isn’t.”
“It really is.”
“You’ve been hiding this from me for a year?”
“I wasn’t hiding it.”
“You never told me.”
“Because I knew you’d react like this!”
“I haven’t done anything,” he laughed.
“You’ve got that smug smile.”
“What smug smile?”
“The one that’s plastered across your face right now.”
“I don’t know what you mean babe.”
She pointed at him, “That one right there!”
He chuckled, taking both of her hands in his. “So, you actually get flustered because of my accent?”
She closed her eyes. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation right now..”
“Answer the question.”
A tiny sigh escaped her. “Maybe.”
“Just maybe?”
“Ugh fine. Yes.”
Lando looked far more pleased with that answer than she would’ve liked.
“I just…” she admitted. “I don’t know why.”
“You don’t know why?”
She shook her head. “I’ve heard different English accents before. They don’t do anything.”
“So what’s different about mine?”
“I don’t know.” She buried her face against his shoulder, hoping if she couldn’t see him, this conversation would magically disappear. “It just is.”
Lando wrapped an arm around her waist. “This is adorable.”
“It is not.”
“It really is.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“I think it’s cute.”
She groaned into his shoulder. “I’m never speaking again.”
“Oh I don’t know about that.”
She looked up. “What does that mean?”
A mischievous grin slowly spread across his face. “It means…” he leaned in just enough for his lips to brush the shell of her ear. “I suddenly know exactly how to make you blush.”
His voice dropped lower. “You alright love?”
She felt the heat rush straight to her face. Lando pulled back just enough to see her expression. Her eyes had widened, and she was looking everywhere except at him.
He let out a victorious laugh. “Oh my God.”
“Don’t,” she buried her face in his chest.
“It worked!”
“Lando…”
“It actually worked.”
He couldn’t resist teasing her again, speaking softly as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Look at me.”
She shook her head.
“C’mon love.”
She made the mistake of glancing up. “There she is.”
She groaned, hiding her face against him once more. “I liked it better when you didn’t know.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I have a feeling I’m going to have a lot of fun with this.”
“Oh you’re so insufferable Lando Norris.”
“And yet,” he replied, squeezing her gently, “you still love listening to me talk.”
She let out a defeated sigh before muttering into his shirt, “Don’t remind me.”
His laughter echoed through the apartment, and judging by the way her face was still burning, Carlos was definitely getting a very sarcastic ‘thank you’ text later that evening.
The first few months of dating Isack Hadjar had been an adjustment. Not because he was difficult, far from it, but because he insisted on doing everything for her.
Every lunch date had somehow ended with him reaching the till before she could even get her bank card out. If they grabbed a coffee between race weekends, he’d already paid while she still deciding what she wanted. Cinema tickets, ice cream after long walks, flowers “just because”… if there was an opportunity for Isack to spoil his girlfriend, he took it without hesitation.
At first she’d argued. “You don’t have to keep paying for everything.”
“I know,” he’d replied with a shrug. “I want to.”
She’d tried sneaking her card to the waiter once. Isack had somehow spotted it from across the room and laughed as he quietly handed over his own before hers even reached the card machine.
Another time she’d ordered food while he was in the bathroom, determined to beat him to it. He’d returned, thanked the waiter for bringing the bill… and paid anyway.
Eventually, she’d accepted that this was simply one of the many ways Isack showed he cared. He simply loved taking her on dates.
Two years later, very little had changed. The only difference was that she’d stopped fighting him over it.
Well…usually.
She was sprawled across their sofa one evening, absent mindedly scrolling through TikTok while Isack finished getting ready upstairs. Their reservation wasn’t for another forty five minutes, leaving her plenty of time to lose herself in endless videos.
Then one caught her attention.
A girl confidently reached into her handbag to pay the restaurant bill… only instead of pulling out a bank card, she placed a lipgloss onto the table. Her boyfriend stared at her in complete confusion. The comments were full of people trying the same prank with random objects - sea shells, uno cards, smooth pebbles they’d found on the beach.
By the time the video finished, she was grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. “Oh…”
This was too good. She immediately paused the video, already planning which ridiculous collection of “payment methods” she was going to take with her tonight.
If there was one thing she knew after two years of dating Isack Hadjar… it was that he would be completely baffled, right before reminding her that he was paying anyway.
With a mischievous grin, she got up from the sofa. She hurried upstairs to their bedroom, opening the small drawer of her dressing table. Her eyes scanned the contents before landing on a half used strawberry lip gloss.
“Perfect.”
Into her handbag it went.
Next, she reached for a black ballpoint pen lying beside her notebook. “That’s random enough.”
She added it to the bag before glancing around the room again. Her perfume bottle caught her eye. Carefully, she pulled the decorative cap from the top, setting the glass bottle back down while admiring the cap in her hand. “That’ll do.”
It joined the growing collection of ‘payment methods’ in her handbag.
She zipped it closed, slinging the strap over her shoulder just as she heard footsteps approaching.
“I’m ready!” Isack called from the hallway.
She stepped out of the bedroom to find him leaning casually against the wall, keys twirling around his finger. He’d traded his team kit for a pair of dark trousers and a fitted black t-shirt. His hair was slightly messy from running a hand through it, and the sight of him made her smile without even realising.
“You look beautiful,” he said the moment he saw her.
She glanced down at the navy sundress she’d chosen before looking back at him. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
He smirked. “Not so bad?”
“Okay,” she laughed, walking over to him. “You look very handsome.”
“Much better.”
He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before offering her his hand. “Come on. Let’s get going.”
The drive to the restaurant was filled with the usual comfortable chatter that came so naturally after two years together. The radio played in the background as they spoke about everything and nothing all at once. Isack told her about the simulator session he’d spent hours in earlier that week, dramatically explaining how one of the engineers had insisted a setup change would make him faster.
“It didn’t,” he said. “I told them it wouldn’t.”
“So you were right?”
“I was.”
She laughed. “You sound very pleased with yourself.”
“That’s because I am.”
“You’ll be impossible if you get a podium next weekend.”
“I already am.”
She rolled her eyes playfully. “At least you’re self aware.”
He reached across the centre console at the next red light, intertwining their fingers before lifting her hand to kiss the back of it.
The simple gesture made her heart melt just as much as it had on their first date.
Before long, they pulled into the restaurant car park.
Isack was out of the driver’s seat almost immediately, jogging around to open her door before she had the chance.
“You know I can open my own door,” she teased.
“I know.”
“But you’re still going to do it?”
“Every time.”
She smiled, taking his offered hand as she stepped out of the car.
Inside, the restaurant was warm and softly lit, candles flickering on each table while quiet music drifted through the room. A waiter greeted them with a smile before leading them to a cosy table tucked away in the corner.
Once they were settled, the conversation picked up where it had left off in the car. They spoke about the places they still wanted to visit together, debating whether Japan or Canada should be next on their list after the season ended.
“You just want to go to Japan because of the food,” she accused.
“That’s only… eighty percent of the reason.”
“And the other twenty?”
“You.”
She couldn’t help but smile.
The waiter returned to take their order before disappearing once again, leaving them alone.
As dinner arrived, they continued talking between bites.
She told him about a particularly chaotic day at work that had ended with someone accidentally sending an email to the entire company instead of just their manager.
“You’d fit right in at a Formula One team,” Isack joked.
“Oh?”
“We accidentally send things to the wrong people all the time.”
“I somehow don’t believe that.”
“I’m serious!”
“You race a car that is worth millions.”
“And yet someone still replies to all instead of replying to one person.”
By the time they’d finished eating, her cheeks hurt from smiling. It had been one of those evenings that reminded her why she loved date nights with him so much. No cameras, no paddock, no interviews.
Just the two of them, enjoying each other’s company. Now all that was left was the bill.
As the last of their dessert disappeared, Isack leaned back in his chair with a content sigh.
“That was really good.”
“It was,” she agreed, taking one final sip of her drink.
Their plates were cleared a few moments later, and the waiter smiled politely as he approached the table. “Can I get you anything else this evening?”
Isack shook his head. “No thank you. Could we have the bill please?”
“Of course.”
The waiter returned a minute later, placing the leather bill folder neatly in the centre of the table.
“There you are. There’s no rush.”
“Thank you,” Isack replied with a smile.
The waiter wandered off to greet another table that had just been seated, leaving the pair alone.
Y/N bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smirking. Here we go.
Before Isack could even reach for the bill, she casually pulled her handbag onto her lap and unzipped it.
Out came the strawberry lipgloss. She carefully placed it on top of the leather folder. Then the black pen. Finally, the decorative gold perfume cap.
She arranged the three items into a neat little pile before giving them an approving nod.
“There,” she said proudly. “That should cover it.”
Isack blinked once. Then twice.
His eyes slowly travelled from the lip gloss… to the pen… to the perfume cap… before finally landing on her perfectly innocent expression.
He frowned ever so slightly. “What is that ma cherie?”
“My payment.”
He looked back at the objects as though they might suddenly transform into an actually bank card.
“…Your payment.”
“Mhm,” she nodded confidently.
“For dinner.”
“Mhm.”
“The dinner we just ate.”
“Exactly.”
He stared at her for a long moment before letting out a slow exhale and dragging a hand down his face. He looked up towards the ceiling for a brief second as if searching for divine intervention. Then under his breath, he muttered in French, “Cette femme me met à l’épreuve tous les jours…” This woman tests me every single day.
Y/N had to press her lips together to stop herself laughing. “What?”
He looked back at her, completely deadpan. “You’ve brought…”
He pointed at each item individually. “Lip gloss.” Tap. “A pen.” Tap. “And…” he picked up the gold cap between two fingers, inspecting it with genuine confusion. “… the top of a bottle.”
“It has sentimental value.”
“It absolutely does not.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do know that.”
“How?”
“Because it’s a bottle lid!”
She shrugged innocently. “I thought it looked expensive.”
He let out an incredulous laugh shaking his head. “I can’t believe you.”
“So… do you think it’ll be enough?”
He looked at the tiny pile once more before looking back at her. “I think,” he said trying not to smile, “that if you hand those to the waiter, he’s going to think I’ve completely lost my mind.”
“I think he’ll be impressed.”
“Impressed?”
“Yes.”
“By what?”
“My excellent currency.”
Isack couldn’t hold his serious expression any longer. A laugh escaped him as he covered his face with one hand, his shoulders shaking. “You are unbelievable.”
“And yet,” she smiled sweetly, “you’ve kept me around for two years.”
He reached across the table, taking her hand in his.
“The funniest part,” he said, still chuckling, “is that you actually thought you needed to pay.”
He squeezed her hand gently. “You know I was always going to pay, mon amour.”
Notes: Inspired by Amelia Dimoldenberg’s F1 Passenger Princess Videos
Y/N had interviewed actors, singers, Olympians, internet personalities and even the occasional politician who’d somehow agreed to appear on her Youtube channel. She’d built a career on making people laugh in the most awkward way possible.
Her interviews were famous for their dry humour, questionable small talk and complete inability to let anyone get away with taking themselves too seriously. 9.3 million subscribers apparently enjoyed watching people become increasingly confused in her company.
The next video, however, was slightly different. Instead of interviewing someone she wanted someone to attempt the impossible. Teaching her how to drive.
“I still think this is a terrible idea,” her camera operator laughed, watching her balance a mug of tea in one hand while scrolling through her emails with the other.
Y/N looked up from her laptop. “I’ve watched approximately fourteen driving tutorials.”
“On YouTube.”
“And?”
“That’s not the same as actually driving.”
“Details,” she waved him off.
He raised an eyebrow, “You failed your theory test God knows how many times.”
“I passed eventually.”
“Barely.”
“I still passed.”
Her manager walked into the office carrying another cup of tea.
“For the record,” she said, placing it on the desk, “I also think this is a terrible idea.”
Y/N looked between them. “You two are supposed to support me.”
“We are.”
“Just… preferably from outside the car.”
She rolled her eyes dramatically before turning off her laptop.
“So,” her manager leaned against the desk. “I’ve sent an email.”
“You actually sent it?”
“About on hour ago.”
Y/N blinked. “Already?”
“You said you wanted to film before the Formula One season got too busy.”
“I know I just didn’t expect you to send it so quickly.”
“No point waiting.” Her manager shrugged.
The email itself was simple, professional and to the point. She’d introduced Y/N, explained the concept of the video and asked whether anyone from McLaren might be interested in taking part in a light hearted driving lesson challenge. Nothing more, nothing less. Y/N wasn’t expecting much. Formula One drivers were busy. The teams were even busier. The chancers of one of their drivers agreeing to spend an afternoon teaching someone whose driving experience mostly consisted of stalling during lessons felt slim.
Three days later, Y/N was halfway through going through the edits of another video when her manager appeared in the doorway. She wasn’t saying anything. She was simply holding her phone.
“… Why are you smiling like that?” Y/N asked suspiciously.
“No reason.”
“There is absolutely a reason.”
“Nope.”
“Tell me.”
Instead of answering, her manager crossed the room and held the phone out. “It’s from McLaren.”
Y/N practically launched herself out of her chair. “No way.”
She took the phone, eyes immediately scanning the email.
Good morning,
Thank you for reaching out. We’d love to collaborate on this idea. We think it would make for a really fun piece of content.
A grin spread across her face. “They actually replied.”
Her manager folded her arms. “Keep reading.”
We’ll be conducting testing at Silverstone on the 14th and one of our drivers will be available once testing concludes. We’d be happy to provide the car and location, making things as straightforward as possible for your production team.
Y/N looked up. “They’re sorting the car?!”
“Mhm.”
“And at Silverstone?”
“Mhm.”
She looked back at the email then read the next line. Her eyes widened. “Oh.”
“What?”
“Oh my God.”
“What is it?”
“They’ve assigned a driver.”
Lando Norris will be available to take part in the filming and teach Y/N the basics of driving.
“LANDO NORRIS?”
Her manager nodded. “The Lando Norris.”
Y/N stared at the email as if the words might suddenly rearrange themselves.
“They’re sending Lando?”
“They’re sending Lando.”
“I thought it’d maybe be one of the test drivers or someone from the simulator programme.”
“So did I.”
“They’re sending an actual Formula One driver.”
“They certainly are.”
“To teach me how to drive.”
Her manager laughed. “I’ve never seen someone look so terrified and excited at the same time.”
Y/N lowered the phone. “I can’t let him know I nearly mounted a kerb during my last driving lesson.”
“You definitely can’t tell him that.”
“I stalled six times.”
“Taking that to the grave.”
“This is going to be embarrassing.” She let out a nervous laugh, dropping back into her chair.
“Probably.”
Y/N groaned, covering her face with both hands. “I’m going to make an absolute fool of myself in front of one of the best drivers in the world.”
“Which is exactly why millions of people are going to watch it.”
“Fair point.”
Silverstone looked even bigger in person. Y/N had been to plenty of filming locations over the years, but there was something about standing inside one of the most iconic racing circuits in the world that made her feel unbelievably small.
The grandstands towered over the track, as the unmistakable sound of a Formula One engine echoed around the circuit.
She took it all in for a moment before turning to her manager. “I suddenly feel under qualified to be here.”
Her manager laughed. “You’ve interviewed Oscar winning actors Y/N.”
“They don’t drive at two hundred miles per hour.”
“Touche.”
Before either of them could say anything else, a man dressed in a McLaren team polo approached them with a warm smile. “You must be Y/N.”
She smiled, extending her hand. “That’s me.”
“I’m Ben, part of McLaren’s media team. Thank you for coming.”
“It’s us that should be thanking you.”
He shook hands with the rest of her crew before gesturing towards the paddock behind him. “Lando’s just finishing up a few things with engineering after testing. He’ll be about fifteen minutes.”
“No problem,” Y/N nodded.
“In the meantime, I’ll take you over to where you’ll be filming.”
He led the group through the paddock, chatting casually as they walked. “We thought it’d be easiest to keep everything away from garages once testing wrapped up. Gives you a bit more freedom with cameras and means Lando won’t be getting dragged into other media commitments.”
“Sounds perfect,” Y/N’s manager replied.
A few minutes later they arrived onto the circuit itself. Parked neatly on the start line sat a gleaming papaya orange McLaren sports car, the afternoon sun reflecting brilliantly off its paintwork.
Y/N was in awe. “No way…”
Ben chuckled at her reaction. “We thought we’d provide something slightly more exciting than a learner car.”
“Slightly?” She laughed. “I was expecting like… a Ford Fiesta.”
“Afraid not.” He walked over to the driver’s side before opening the door. “The car’s yours for the next hour.”
Y/N carefully stepped closer, almost afraid to touch it. “I don’t think I should be allotted anywhere near this.”
“Lando will probably agree,” Ben grinned making everyone laugh.
Inside the car, resting on the passenger seat was a black racing helmet.
“That’s yours,” Ben explained. “Lando will bring his own helmet when he comes over.”
Y/N picked it up carefully. “So this is actually happening…”
“It is.”
He glanced towards the cameraman. “You’re more than welcome to set up cameras inside the car before he arrived.”
“Perfect,” the cameraman replied, already reaching into one of the equipment cases.
Ben checked his watch. “Lando’s got around an hour free before his next commitment, so we’ll try to make the most of it.”
“An hour is plenty of time,” Y/N said.
“Great. I’ll go and grab him for you. Make ourselves at home.”
With that, he disappeared back towards the paddock.
“Nervous?” Her manager asked as she caught her looking between the helmet and the car.
“Terrified,” Y/N laughed.
“You’ve hidden it well.”
“I’ve not hidden it well at all.”
“You’ll be fine,” her manager laughed.
“What if I crash?”
“You won’t.”
“What if I stall it?”
“You probably will.”
“Thanks for the confidence.”
“I’m being realistic.”
Y/N groaned. “He’s literally one of the best racing drivers in the world.”
“And?”
“And I once forgot which pedal was the clutch.”
Her manager burst out laughing. “Please don’t tell him that.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
Nearby, the cameraman had climbed into the passenger seat, carefully attaching a GoPro to the inside of the windscreen.
“Can you move your seat forward a little?” He called.
Y/N climbed into the driver’s seat cautiously trying not to touch anything she shouldn’t. “This car costs more than my old flat.”
“So don’t scratch it.”
She adjusted the seat while he checked the camera angle. “Look towards me.”
She did.
“Perfect. Now pretend you’re driving.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Exactly why we’re here.”
She rolled her eyes. “I hired the wrong people.”
A second GoPro was fixed just behind the centre console, giving a clear view of both front seats.
The cameraman stepped back, studying the shot. “Looks good.”
Y/N climbed back out, taking one last nervous glance at the McLaren.
Her stomach flipped. “This suddenly feels very real.”
Her manager noticed her fidgeting with the sleeves of her jumper.
“You okay?”
“I’m overthinking.”
“About?”
“What if he thinks I’m annoying?”
“He won’t.”
“What if I accidentally make a complete idiot of myself?”
“You will.”
She looked horrified. Her manager quickly laughed. “I mean… that’s literally why people subscribe to your channel.”
Y/N sighed. “I know.”
“You’re not supposed to be a professional driver.”
“I know.”
“You’re supposed to be entertaining.”
“I get that.”
“So stop trying to impress him.”
“I’m not trying to impress him.”
Her manager raised an eyebrow. “No?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
Y/n opened her mouth then closed it again.
“Okay maybe a little.”
Before her manager could tease her any further, movement caught all of their attention.
Ben was walking back across the track. Beside him…
A familiar figure dressed in a black McLaren t-shirt and jeans walked casually with a racing helmet tucked under one arm.
Lando Norris.
He was laughing at something Ben had just said, running a hand through his slightly messy curls before looking up. His eyes landed on the small filming crew waiting beside the McLaren.
He smiled immediately.
Y/N felt every ounce of confidence she’d managed to build over the last fifteen minutes disappear in an instant.
“Oh…”
Her manager smirked. “Too late to back out now.”
Y/N swallowed. “I wasn’t planning to.”
Although, as Lando got closer with that easy smile on his face she wasn’t entirely convinced she believed herself.
Lando was the first to close the distance between them. He shifted his helmet under one arm before offering Y/N a friendly smile.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
She shook his hands, trying very hard to act like meeting a Formula One driver was something she did every Tuesday.
“I’m Y/N.”
“Lando.”
“As if I didn’t know that.”
He laughed. “I’d be a little concerned if you didn’t.”
Ben smiled at the small group. “Lando, this is Y/N’s team.”
Introductions were made around the circle, with handshakes exchanged between Lando and Y/N’s crew before her manager stepped forward. “Just one warning before we start,” she said, pointing towards Y/N.
Lando looked over curiously. “Oh?”
“She’ll give you banter.”
Y/N’s eyes widened “Oh my God.”
Her manager ignored her. “She’ll probably try and insult you at some point.”
“I will not!”
“You absolutely will.”
Lando chuckled. “I was hoping so.”
Y/N looked at him. “You were?”
“Yeah. Makes the video more fun.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “That’s… actually reassuring.”
“I’d be disappointed if you were nice to me the whole time.”
Her manager folded her arms triumphantly. “See? He gets it.”
“I haven’t even started filming and I’m already exposed.”
Lando laughed again. “I’ll consider myself warned.”
Ben clapped his hands together. “Right, we’ll leave you to it.”
He glanced towards the cameraman. “You’ve got just under an hour.”
“Perfect.”
“And if anyone needs anything, I’ll just be over there.”
With that, Ben wandered back towards the pit lane, leaving the filming crew alone with Lando.
Y/N turned to him. “So I’ve never driven anything remotely close to this.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“I asked.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been researching me.”
“I watched one of your videos.”
“Oh no.”
“What?”
“Which one?”
“The one where you tried pottery.”
She groaned loudly. “I was terrible.”
“You were.”
“Thanks.”
“But it was funny.”
“I appreciate that… I think.”
The cameraman interrupted before either of them could continue. “Ready whenever you are.”
Y/N immediately straightened up. Like flicking a switch, the nervousness disappeared, her posture changed and her smile widened. She suddenly looked completely at home in front of the camera. Lando noticed instantly. “That’s impressive.”
“What is?”
“You just switched.”
She smiled. “Occupational hazard.”
The cameraman lifted his hands together. “Rolling in… three… two… one.”
Y/N looked directly into the lens. “Hello everyone and welcome back to the channel!”
Her usual confident energy filled the empty stretch of circuit. “Today we’re at Silverstone because somehow…” she gestured towards the McLaren behind her, “… McLaren have trusted me with one of their cars.”
Lando laughed beside her. “Questionable decision.”
“I completely agree.”
She turned slightly towards him. “And joining me today is the second best Formula One driver.”
Lando blinked. “Second?”
“Yes. Second.”
He frowned dramatically. “Go on then who’s first?”
Without missing a beat, Y/N smiled sweetly. “Oscar Piastri obviously.”
Lando stared at her for a second before bursting into laughter. “Unbelievable.”
“I’m just saying.”
“My own teammate?”
“He’s not sped off a slippy track as much as you.”
“Ouch.”
“I don’t make the rules.”
He pointed accusingly towards the camera. “I’ve only been here thirty seconds by the way.”
“And you’re already being humbled.”
“I’ve been stitched up.”
The chemistry between them was immediate. Easy and natural. Like two friends winding each other up rather than two strangers who’d only met ten minutes earlier.
Y/N smiled innocently. “So… Lando has very kindly agreed to attempt the impossible.”
He sighed dramatically for the camera. “Teach you how to drive.”
“Exactly.”
“Key word there being attempt.”
“I’ve got complete faith in you.”
“I’ve got absolutely none in you.”
She gasped in mocked offence. “That’s so rude.”
“I think that’s enough outside the car,” the cameraman called with a grin on his face.
“Let’s see how long the clutch survives.”
“I suddenly don’t like any of you.”
A few minutes later, both of them were strapped into the McLaren. Their helmets were now on as Y/N adjusted herself in the driver’s seat.
She looked around the dashboard. “There are… a lot of buttons.”
“Don’t touch most of them.”
“Helpful.”
“I’m serious.”
She quickly moved both hands onto the steering wheel. “Right.”
Lando smiled. “Comfortable?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Good,” he pointed towards the pedals. “Clutch on the left.”
“I know that one.”
“Brake.”
“I know that one too.”
“Accelerator.”
She looked at him. “I passed my theory eventually I’ll have you know.”
“I’m just checking.”
“Very kind of you.”
He laughed. “Start the engine.”
Y/N took a steadying breath before pressing the ignition. The engine roared to life and her eyes widened immediately.
“Oh my God.”
Lando smirked. “Bit different from your learner car?”
“A little.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t either.”
She shot him a look. “That’s not what you’re supposed to say.”
“Okay,” he chuckled.
He nodded towards the gear stick. “First gear.” She followed his instructions carefully. “Now slowly lift the clutch while giving it a little bit of throttle.”
Y/N nodded with complete concentration. “I can do this.”
“You can.”
“I’ve got this.”
“You’ve definitely —“
The car lurched violently… then silence. The engine had died.
Y/N slowly closed her eyes. “…No one speak.”
Lando opened the door to look at the track then back to her. “You didn’t even make it off the start line.”
She dropped her forehead onto the steering wheel. “I hate this already.”
His laughter echoed around the car, so genuine that even Y/N couldn’t stop herself smiling. She let out a long sigh before sitting back up properly. “Right.” She cracked her knuckles. “Round two.”
“You’ve got this,” Lando encouraged.
“You’ve just spent the last thirty seconds laughing at me.”
“Ooops my bad.”
“Not exactly motivational Norris.”
“I believe in you.”
“You literally said you didn’t.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Liar.”
He grinned. “Maybe.”
The engine roared back to life. Y/N gripped the steering wheel tightly enough that her knuckles turned white. “Okay…”
“Nice and steady,” Lando said. “Clutch up slowly and a little bit of throttle.”
The McLaren rolled forward smoothly with no juddering or stalling. It simply moved.
“I’ve driving!” Y/N gasped.
“You are.”
“I’m actually driving!”
“You don’t need to sound so surprised.”
“I’ve never successfully driven a McLaren before.”
“I’d be worried if you had.”
She laughed as the car continued creeping down the straight. Lando glanced down at the speedometer. “..You know.”
“What?”
“You can go a little faster.”
“I am going faster.”
“You are doing eight miles an hour.”
“Eight is a lovely speed.”
“It really isn’t.”
“I feel safe.”
“I feel like we’re going to get overtaken by someone on a bicycle.”
She burst out laughing. “There aren’t any bicycles on the track.”
“There should be.”
She looked at him. “You’re mean.”
“I’m realistic.”
She cautiously pressed the accelerator a little further and the car picked up speed.
“There you go.”
“I don’t like this.”
“You’re fine.”
“I don’t think I am.”
“You’ve already managed one miracle.”
“What?”
“Getting the car moving.”
She reached across with one hand and lightly shoved his arm. “Oh shut up.”
He laughed. “Both hands on the wheel!”
“Sorry.”
“That’s lesson number one.”
“Don’t bully the instructor?”
“No,” he smiled. “Keep both hands on the steering wheel.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun.”
A few seconds passed before Lando spoke up. “Okay. Let’s go into second.”
Y/N looked horrified. “Already? I’ve only just figured out first.”
“You’ll be okay.”
“What if I break it?”
“You won’t.”
“What if I accidentally put it into reverse.”
“You physically can’t.”
“You’ve got a lot of confidence in me.”
“I actually don’t.”
She gasped dramatically. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Clutch down and into second.”
She followed his instructions and the gearstick slipped into place. “Now gently come off the clutch.”
The transition was surprisingly smooth. “I did it!”
“You did.”
“I actually did it!”
He nodded approvingly. “See?”
“I’m basically a racing driver now.”
“We’ll revisit that statement.”
She laughed. As they rounded a corner, Y/N’s shoulders slowly began to relax. The steering became smoother, her grip loosened and she even started smiling. Lando noticed it immediately. “There she is.”
“What?”
“The confidence.”
“I still don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You look like you do.”
“That’s because I’m a good actress.”
“I’ll give you that.”
“So… what now?”
“Little bit more speed.”
“More?”
“Trust the car,” Lando instructed.
“I barely trust myself.”
“I trust you.”
She glanced sideways. “That’s new.”
“I’ve always trusted you.”
“No. You literally admitted five minutes ago you didn’t.”
“I was joking.”
“Were you?”
“I think so.”
She shook her head with a laugh. “I don’t know whether to believe anything you say.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“It keeps things interesting.”
Another corner approached and Lando instinctively placed a hand against the dashboard as Y/N turned in. “Too much?”
“No,” he smiled. “It was actually really good.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
A proud smile spread across her face. “Did you hear that?” She asked, glancing briefly towards the camera. “Lando Norris just complimented my driving.”
“I said one corner was good.”
“I’ll take it.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I absolutely should.”
He chuckled. “You celebrate the little victories don’t you?”
“Always.”
“I like that.”
The words slipped out so casually that neither of them acknowledged them at first. Then… Y/N looked across.
“You like that?”
He met her eyes for a second. “Yeah.”
A small smile appeared at the corners of his mouth. “I like people who celebrate small wins.”
She felt her cheeks warm beneath the helmet. “Oh.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, what?”
She smiled to herself. “I just wasn’t expecting you to say that.”
He shrugged. “It’s true.”
Lando glanced at the speedometer again. “You’re still driving like someone’s nan.”
Y/N gasped in mocked offence. “I was having a moment!”
“You were doing twenty.”
“I’m easing into it.”
“If you go any slower the marshals are going to come and ask if we need directions.”
She laughed so hard she had to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet you’re still smiling.”
“I blame the helmet.”
“The helmet’s making you smile?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
“It supports my cheeks.”
He laughed again, shaking his head. “I’ve got to say… I thought today was going to be me teaching you how to drive.”
“And?”
“It turns out I’m mostly just trying not to laugh.”
Y/N smirked. “So you’re saying I’m entertaining?”
“I’m saying…” he looked at her with a grin that made her momentarily forget about the next corner. “…I’d definitely film another video with you.”
She smiled, trying very hard not to let him see how much that pleased her.
“Careful Norris.”
“Hm?”
“You almost sounded like you were asking for a date.”
“I thought this was the first one?”
For the first time since they’d climbed into the car Y/N was the one who had absolutely no comeback.
As they crossed back over the start line, Lando instructed her to stop. Y/N slowed the McLaren down exactly as he’d instructed before bringing it to a gentle stop. She let out the biggest sigh of relief.
“I did it!”
“You did.”
“And I only stalled it once.”
“That’s a pretty successful lesson,” he smiled.
She grinned proudly. “I’m basically qualified.”
Lando laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Oh?”
I think we should leave the racing to me.”
She pretended to look offended. “Wow.”
“I’m kidding.”
“No, no.” She climbed out of the driver’s seat, shaking her head dramatically. “I’ve been humbled by my own instructor.”
“You’ve been humbled for the past half an hour.”
“I’ve actually been bullied.”
He shrugged innocently. “I prefer the term… constructive criticism.”
“That was brilliant,” the cameraman said as he replayed the live feed from the GoPros on his tablet.
“Yeah?” Y/N asked.
“The chemistry’s great.”
Lando looked at her. “We’re funny.”
“We are.”
He nodded. “Shame you’re still a terrible driver.”
She gasped. “There it is again!”
“I couldn’t resist.”
Lando looked towards the McLaren before turning back to Y/N. “My turn.”
“…Your turn?” She frowned.
“We’re swapping.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh.”
“You’ve experienced learning to drive. Now you get to experience an actual driver.”
“I don’t know if that’s reassuring.”
“It should be.”
“It really isn’t though.”
Lando was already walking around to the driver’s side. “You’ll love it.”
Her manager called after her. “Just remember to smile.”
Y/N looked over her shoulder. “I hope you’ve insured me.”
The entire crew laughed.
“We’re covered for equipment.”
“What about emotional damage?”
“No promised.”
Y/N sighed before climbing into the passenger seat. “This feels like a bad decision.”
Lando settled into the driver’s seat with the sort of effortless confidence that only came from years of doing exactly this.
He adjusted the mirror in seconds and fastened his seatbelt.
The cameraman gave them a thumbs up through the windscreen.
“GoPros are still rolling.”
Lando wrapped both hands around the steering wheel before glancing sideways.
“You’ll love ready sweetheart?”
Y/N blinked. “…Sweetheart?”
A small smirk tugged on his lips. “You gonna answer?”
“I—“
Before she could finish his foot buried the accelerator and the McLaren launched forward. Y/N’s entire body slammed back into the seat. “Oh my—“
A scream ripped out of her before she could stop it. “LANDO!”
He burst out laughing.
The acceleration was unlike anything she’d experienced. One second they’d been stationary. The next… the scenery had become a blur. “Oh my God!”
She grabbed both sides of her seat immediately. “GO SLOWER!”
Lando was grinning like a child. “We’re not even going that fast yet.”
“NOT THAT FAST?”
She looked at the speedometer before immediately wishing she hadn’t. “Jesus Christ!”
He shifted up another gear with effortless precision. The engine roared louder.
Y/N let out another involuntary squeal. “WHY ARE YOU SMILING?”
“Because this is fun.”
“This is terrifying.”
He couldn’t stop himself from laughing when he saw her expression. “You said you wanted to know what the car could do.”
“I LIED.”
A corner approached frighteningly quickly. Y/N instinctively braced herself. “Lando…”
“Hm?”
“Lando…”
“We’re okay.”
“LANDO.”
He turned into the corner with incredible precision. The car barely seemed to move despite the speed. Y/N however was convinced they were about to leave the circuit.
“Oh my God!” She squeezed her eyes shut. “We’re going to die!”
“We’re definitely not.”
“I HAVE SO MUCH LEFT TO DO.”
He laughed again. “You’ve got dramatic very quickly.”
“You’ve turned into a psychopath!”
“I’ve turned into a racing driver.”
“THERE’S NO DIFFERENCE.”
Another straight, another explosion of acceleration. Y/N’s helmet knocked lightly against the headrest. She gripped the seat so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“I hate you!”
“No you don’t.”
“I ABSOLUTELY DO!”
“You’ll thank me later.”
“I’M NEVER SPEAKING TO YOU AGAIN!”
“Bit harsh.”
She shot him a horrified look.
“You’re having a conversation?”
“Yeah?”
“WHILE DOING THIS?”
“I’m multitasking.”
“You are actually insane.”
He flashed her a teasing grin. “You’ve still voluntarily came.”
“I DIDN’T KNOW THIS WAS THE PLAN!”
He shook his head laughing. “You should’ve read the small print.”
“There wasn’t any small print!”
“There is now.”
The next sequence of corners arrived. Without thinking, Y/N reached across and grabbed onto Lando’s forearm. The movement surprised both of them. Lando glanced down for half a second before looking back at the track.
“You can let go.”
“I’m choosing not to.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“I trusted you until about thirty seconds ago!”
“I’ve got you,” he smiled.
Somehow she believed him. Not enough to let go of his arm but enough to open her eyes again. As they flew through another corner, she stared out through the windscreen. The precision was unbelievable. Every moment was smooth. Every braking point was perfect. It suddenly made sense why he raced Formula One cars.
“Okay…” she admitted between breaths.
“What?”
“That was actually kind of cool.”
Lando’s grin widened. “I knew I’d convert you.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“Oh?”
“The second we get out of here I’m sending you my therapy bill.”
The McLaren coasted back into the pit lane before rolling to a smooth stop in front of the team’s garage. For a moment… neither of them moved. Lando switched the engine off.
The deafening roar that had filled the car all lap disappeared instantly, leaving only the sound of them both laughing.
“I need a minute.”
Lando pulled his helmet off, running a hand through his now flattened curls. “You survived.”
“Barely.”
“You were very dramatic.”
She slowly removed her own helmet, staring at him in disbelief. “Very dramatic?”
He nodded.
“I thought we were going to die!”
“We weren’t even close.”
“You nearly made my soul leave my body.”
He laughed again, climbing out of the bar. “I think you’ll find that was acceleration.”
“I think you’ll find that was attempted murder.”
By now, the rest of the filming crew were walking over, all trying to hide their smiles. Her cameraman was the first to speak. “I’ve got one thing to say.”
Y/N looked at him hopefully. “Please tell me you got that on camera.”
“Oh every single second.”
“Oh no.”
Her manager burst out laughing. “The scream was incredible.”
“I screamed?”
“You screamed several times,” Lando commented.
“I don’t remember screaming.”
“You called him a psychopath,” her manager added.
“I stand by that.”
Lando placed a hand over his heart. “I can’t believe you’d say that.”
“You laughed while I feared for my laugh!”
“My apologies.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ve made a huge mistake.”
The cameraman gestured towards the front of the McLaren. “Let’s grab the outro while we’re here.”
Y/N nodded, before instantly slipping back into presenter mode.
“Rolling!”
Y/N smiled brightly into the lens. “Well… I can officially say I have now driven a McLaren.”
“Loosely speaking,” Lando interrupted.
She ignored him. “And despite what some people might tell you…” she shot him a pointed look. “…I think I did quite well.”
“She stalled before she moved.”
“One time.”
“You nearly cried.”
“I absolutely did not.”
“You screamed.”
“Only when you were driving!”
Lando couldn’t help laughing.
“A massive thank you to McLaren for letting us film today and to Lando for somehow surviving in the car with me.”
“It was fun.”
“You actually enjoyed yourself?”
“I did.”
“I’m slightly offended.”
“Why?”
“I thought you’d be counting down until it was over.”
“Nah,” he shrugged. “I’d do it again.”
“That’s good because if this video gets enough likes, maybe I’ll convince you.”
Lando nodded. “As long as I get to drive again.”
“No promises.”
The cameraman lowered the camera. “That’s a wrap!”
Everyone relaxed immediately. Microphones were unclipped, helmets were collected and the crew began packing equipment back into cases while Ben returned to thank everyone for coming.
After another round of thank yous, the group slowly started making their way out of the pit lane and into the paddock.
Y/N walked beside her manager, still replaying parts of the afternoon in her head. “I genuinely thought I was going to launch into orbit.”
Her manager smirked. “Can’t believe you called him a psychopath.”
“He deserved it.”
As they reached a hospitality suite, everyone naturally slowed. Ben headed back towards the media, the cameraman disappeared to load equipment into the van, her manager was already discussing file transfers with the sound technician. Y/N had barely taken two steps before she heard —
“Y/N?”
She turned around. Lando was standing a few feet behind her, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He glanced towards her team before looking back at her. “Can I steal you for a second?”
“Course.”
She followed him a little further away from everyone else until they were just out of earshot. For the first time all afternoon, he actually looked a little nervous. He rubbed the back of his neck.
“So…”
“So.”
“I was wondering… this is weird,” he laughed briefly.
“What is?”
“Asking what I’m about to ask.”
“You’re doing fine,” she smiled.
“I was just wondering if… I could have your number?”
For a split second Y/N genuinely wondered if she’d imagined hearing him correctly. “My… phone number?”
He nodded. “I just thought…” He shrugged, suddenly looking far less like the confident Formula One driver she’d spent the afternoon teasing. “…it’d be nice to keep in touch.”
Heat immediately rushed to her cheeks. “Oh.” She mentally cursed herself for only managing a singly syllable.
“You don’t have to.”
“No!” Her response came far too quickly. “I mean…” she laughed nervously. “I’d like that.”
A small smile spread across his face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. “Here.”
Lando unlocked his own before handing it over.
“Type it in.”
Trying to ignore the fact her heart was beating noticeably faster than it had when he’d accelerated down Silverstone’s National Pit Straight, she carefully entered her contact details.
“There you go.”
He looked down at the screen smiling. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“So… maybe next time I’ll teach you how to drive without giving you a heart attack.”
Y/N laughed. “I’m making absolutely no promises about the heart attack part.”
“Fair enough,” he grinned.
Across the paddock, her manager looked over and caught Y/N and Lando swapping phone. She had a feeling this wasn’t going to be the last time those two would be recording a video for Y/N’s channel.
Are your requests currently open? If they're not, then u can delete the message no problem :)
I was thinking of a fic based on that tiktok trend where the girl tries to pay for the meal with things like sea shells, or her lipgloss, etc. and the guy is utterly confused as to why she would even think about paying...slightly amused by the "money" she put as well
maybe with isack?
also i loved reading "he has a girlfriend" :D
take care and have a lovely day <3
Hi lovely. Thank you so much!!!! Yes my requests are open 🥰 i love this idea I’ll add it to my list ❤️xx
Hey guys. I need your opinions on something. Basically I want to write a fic based on Amelia Dimoldenberg’s F1 Passenger Princess videos but I can’t decide on which driver to pick. Let me know your thoughts!
can i request a isack hadjar one? isack and reader have been dating for a year but keep it lowkey. on a race weekend a celebrity gets invited to the red bull garage and she flirts with isack and people ship them online and it makes her feel awful? so like angst but with a fluffy ending?
Thank you for the request lovely. I changed it a little so I hope thats okay. Hope you enjoy xx
He’s Got a Girlfriend - Isack Hadjar
Isack Hadjar x Reader
Word Count: 5801
Warnings: Angst with a fluffy ending
When you’d first told your friends you were dating a Formula One driver they’d got extremely excited about the glamour of it all for you. From the outside, your life looked exciting. Private jets, luxury hotels, sunny race weekends and VIP paddock passes. Things only most people could dream of experiencing.
What people didn’t see were the early alarms, the constant slights, the jet lag, the cancelled dinner plans and the weeks spent on opposite sides of the world. Or how hard you had to fight for uninterrupted time together.
You and Isack had been together just over a year. It hadn’t been love at first sight like in the movies. In fact, the first time you’d met, you’d thought he was unbelievably arrogant and he thought you talked too much. Your mutual friends had spent the entire evening insisting the two of you would get along eventually. You’d both laughed at the idea.
Six months later and you were inseparable. Now, over a year into your relationship, life had settled into a rhythm. Whenever his schedule allowed, you’d fly out to race weekends, usually arriving on the Wednesday before media day. You’d become close with Red Bulls mechanics and engineers, greeting them with hugs and inside jokes whenever you walked into the garage.
The team had welcomed you almost immediately. They’d seen the difference you made. No matter how stressful a weekend became, Isack always seemed lighter once he’d spotted you leaning against the back of the garage. His shoulders relaxed, his smile became genuine. Even the mechanics joked that they knew he’d found you before they actually saw you.
“He gets that stupid grin,” one of them had laughed after Suzuka.
“It’s disgusting,” another teased.
“It really is,” Isack had replied without a hint of embarrassment. “But she’s worth it.”
You’d heard him and he turned bright red when he’d realised. You’d never let him forget it.
Despite the teasing, neither of you were particularly public about your relationship. You weren’t hiding by any means. There were photos on Instagram; birthday posts, the odd candid picture from a holiday but that was where it ended. Neither of you felt the need to broadcast every date night or every bouquet of flowers. What mattered happened when the cameras were off. Like the way Isack instinctively reached for your hand whenever you walked anywhere together. Or how he’d absent mindedly played with the rings on your fingers when he sat next to you in the garage. Or the way he’d always sought you out first after climbing out of the car, whether he’d finished in the points or dead last.
Those moment belonged to the two of you. And that was enough.
Most weekends passed without much drama. Fans were respectful, the paddock staff knew where the line was. Even the media rarely asked about your relationship beyond the occasional harmless question. Which was why you hadn’t thought twice when Red Bull announced they’d invited several content creators and influencers to spend the weekend in the paddock.
It happened all the time, brands wanted exposure, creators wanted behind the scene access. The drivers smiled for a few photos, filmed a challenge or two, signed a cap and carried on with their day. It was normal. You certainly weren’t worried. Not when you knew exactly how devoted Isack was.
He wasn’t the overly affectionate type in public, but there had never been a moment where you’d questions how he felt about you.
Until Friday morning.
The Red Bull garage was busier than usual, filled with camera operators weaving between mechanics and PR staff directing guests from one side of the garage to the other.
You stood near the back of the garage chatting to one of the engineers, sipping your coffee while Isack finished speaking with his race engineer.
“You coming to lunch later?” The engineer asked.
“If Isack doesn’t get dragged into another interview first,” you laughed.
“Good luck with that,” he rolled his eyes knowingly.
Before either of you could continue your conversation, a burst of laughter echoed through the garage. It wasn’t coming from the team. It was coming from one of the guests.
Your eyes drifted across the garage almost instinctively. A younger influencer, probably around your age, impeccably dressed despite the heat, was being show around by a member of the Red Bull media team. A camera followed a few steps behind, filming content for social media. She smiled brightly as various members of the team introduced themselves.
Then her eyes landed on Isack.
“Oh my God,” she laughed dramatically, clasping her hands together. “You’re Isack Hadjar!”
He looked up from the tablet in front of him, offering the polite smile he gave every guest.
“Hi.”
“I’ve been dying to meet you.”
“I told you she was excited,” the PR representative chuckled.
You smiled faintly to yourself. Nothing unusual. Guests were enthusiastic all the time.
Isack exchanged a few polite words before turning back towards the engineers.
You’d expected that to be the end of it.
Instead… the influencer stepped closer to
“So…” she said, tilting her head with a playful smile, “are you going to be my personal tour guide today?”
One of the mechanics awkwardly looked down at the floor. Another suddenly became very interested in tightening a wheel nut that definitely didn’t need tightening.
Isack let out a small, uncomfortable laugh. “I think the PR team are better at that than me.”
“Oh come on,” she teased, lightly touching his arm “I’d much rather spend the day with a driver.”
Your smile disappeared. Across the garage, you noticed one of the mechanics glance in your direction. Then another. No one said a word, no one wanted to make it awkward.
Isack subtly took half a step backwards, creating a little space between them.
“I’m actually about to head into a meeting,” he said politely.
She pouted dramatically. “So you’re rejecting me already?”
He laughed again, clearly unsure how to respond. “It… isn’t really my decision.”
The influencer giggled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll change your mind.”
The words were playful. Probably harmless, at least you hoped they were. But as you watched her smile at your boyfriend with complete confidence, as though you weren’t standing barely twenty feet away, you couldn’t ignore the uncomfortable knot beginning to form in your stomach.
You tried to ignore it, you really did.
The garage was busy enough that you could have easily focused on something else. One of the mechanics was explaining a new front wing update to you, another had just come back from grabbing drinks for the crew, and one of the engineers was showing you a replay from FP1.
Normally, you loved spending time in the Red Bull garage. Today, you couldn’t concentrate on a single word. Your eyes kept drifting back across the room. The influencer was still standing beside Isack, still smiling, still laughing. You watched as she leaned against one of the workbenches, hanging onto every word he said as if he were the funniest person she’d ever met.
“So…” she smiled. “You never answered my question.
Isack looked up from the tablet he’d been pretending to study. “What question?”
“The tour.”
He let out an awkward laugh. “I don’t really do tours.”
“You literally work here.”
“I know I do.”
“So who’s better qualified?”
He smiled politely. “I’m sure someone from PR—“
She interrupted him with a dramatic sigh. “You keep trying to get rid of me.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m really not.”
“You are.”
One of the PR representatives walked over, clipboard tucked under her arm. “Everything alright over here?”
The influencer turned with an excited grin. “I’ve been trying to convince Isack to show me around.”
The PR representatives looked between them before smiling at Isack. “If you’ve got five or ten minutes before your engineering meeting, that’d make for some nice content.”
Isack hesitated. You saw it. The tiny pause. He looked towards his race engineer, silently asking if it was okay. “We’ve got a few minutes.”
There wasn’t really a reason to say no anymore without causing a scene.
“Okay,” Isack nodded.
The influencer clapped her hands together. “Yes!”
You felt your jaw tighten. One of the mechanics beside you muttered quietly under his breath. “This won’t end well.”
You weren’t sure whether he meant for Isack or for the influencer. Maybe both.
The cameras followed a few steps behind as Isack led her through the garage. He pointed out the mechanics’ work stations, explaining how the pit crew prepared for race sessions.
“This is where everyone gets the car ready before we go out.”
She nodded enthusiastically. “So they basically make you look good?”
“They’d probably argue it’s the other way around,” he laughed politely.
She laughed far harder than the joke deserved. “Oh my God,” she giggled, lightly slapping his arm. “You’re actually hilarious.”
Your fingers tightened around your paper coffee cup.
He smiled, not a big smile, just enough to be polite but he still smiled.
“This is my race engineer’s station.”
“So he’s the one telling you what to do?”
“Pretty much.”
“I don’t know…” she teased. “You don’t seem very good at taking instructions.”
Isack laughed awkwardly for the hundredth time. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
Again. She touched his arm, again. Every single time she laughed, every single time she spoke. It wasn’t accidental anymore, it was deliberate. She’d lean in slightly when he spoke, brush his sleeve, rest her hand on his forearm for just a second too long.
To anyone watching from afar it almost looked flirtatious. Because it was.
One of the mechanics quietly wandered over to where you were standing.
“You alright?” He asked under his breath.
“I’m fine,” you forced a smile.
He followed your gaze. “…Right.”
Across the garage, the influencer was now standing far closer to Isack than necessary as he explained the steering wheel.
“So many buttons,” she laughed.
“There’s a few.”
“I’d definitely press the wrong one.”
“You probably would.”
She nudged his shoulder playfully. “I knew you’d make fun of me.”
“It wasn’t making fun of you,” he chuckled.
“It definitely was.”
You looked away, you couldn’t watch anymore. Because every logical part of your brain knew exactly what was happening. Isack wasn’t flirting back, he wasn’t encouraging her, he wasn’t touching her, he was simply being polite. Being the driver. Doing what the team had asked of him. So why did it hurt so much?”
Because he wasn’t stopping either. He wasn’t moving away when she touched him, he wasn’t shutting the flirting down, he wasn’t mentioning the girlfriend standing barely twenty metres away. He just… kept smiling. Kept laughing politely, kept walking beside her as though nothing was wrong. You knew he probably didn’t want to make a scene, you knew cameras were following them, you knew sponsors expected him to be friendly. But standing there, watching another woman openly flirt with your boyfriend while he simply went along with it… it felt like someone was slowly twisting a knife in your chest.
The mechanic beside you sighed. “I don’t think he realises.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat. “No.” Your eyes never left Isack. “I don’t think he does either.”
Just then, the influencer looped her hand around his bicep as he led her towards the pit wall. One for a second. Just long enough for the cameras to catch it.
Isack glanced down briefly before continuing to explain something about the start procedure, seemingly oblivious to how it looked.
That was it. You’d had enough. Without saying a word to anyone, you placed your coffee cup on the workbench beside you.
The mechanic watched you. “…Y/N?”
You shook your head gently. “I just need some air.”
He didn’t try to stop you. He simply watched as you walked out of the Red Bull garage, your chest tight with a mixture of hurt and frustration. Not because you didn’t trust Isack. You trusted him completely. What you didn’t trust was that he seemed completely unaware of the position he’d just put you in.
The moment you stepped out of the Red Bull garage, you felt as though you could finally breathe again. You made your way through the paddock, you didn’t really have a destination in mind. You just needed to be somewhere that wasn’t there.
You hated how irrational you felt. You trusted Isack. You knew you did. If someone had asked you whether you believe he’d cheat on you, your answer would’ve been immediate. No. Not for a second.
But trust and hurt weren’t always mutually exclusive. You could trust him completely and still hate watching another woman flirt with him while he smiled politely through it. The worst part wasn’t even her. She didn’t owe you anything. She was a guest who probably had no idea she was crossing a line. Your frustration was aimed squarely at the one person who did know better. Isack.
He knew how uncomfortable public flirting made you. It had come up before, not because you were possessive, but because you’d both agreed there was a difference between being friendly and allowing someone to think they had a chance. Normally, he was good at drawing that line. Today it felt like he’d forgotten where it was.
You sighed as you climbed the stairs to the Red Bull hospitality balcony, hoping the fresh air might clear your head. It was usually one of your favourite places in the paddock. High enough above the garages that everything below became background noise, yet close enough to watch the organised chaos unfold.
You ordered yourself a lemonade from the bar, thanked the server with a tired smile and settled into one of the chair overlooking the pit lane. For the first time all morning everything was still.
You wrapped both hands around the cold glass, letting the condensation dampen your fingertips as you looked at the circuit beyond.
Maybe you were overthinking it. Maybe once Isack finished with the media obligations he’d come and find you, wrap an arm around your shoulders and you’d laugh at yourself for getting so worked up.
The thought had barely crossed your mind when laughter drifted through the open doors behind you. A laugh you’d unfortunately became familiar with.
Your stomach sank.
“No…” you muttered under your breath.
You turned in your seat. There they were. Isack and her. You closed your eyes for a brief second letting out a quiet curse beneath your breath.
Apparently the garage tour hadn’t been enough. Somehow she’d convinced him to show her around the Red Bull hospitality building as well.
You watched from the balcony as they stepped into the lounge, followed by the same camera crew who had documented the entire garage tour.
The influencer looked delighted.
Isack looked tired. You could see it in the way he kept glancing towards members of the PR team as though silently asking whether they were finished yet.
If only he’d actually said no.
He pointed towards a display of old helmets, explaining something you couldn’t quite hear from where you were sitting. She listened intently, nodding every few seconds before laughing at something he’d said. Again. Always laughing.
You looked back down at your drink, trying to force yourself not to care. It wasn’t working. Against your better judgement, your eyes drifted upwards once more.
They’d moved out onto the balcony on the opposite side of the building. Close enough now that you could hear snippets of their conversation carried by the breeze.
“…so this is where everyone watches qualifying?” The influencer asked.
“Sometimes,” Isack replied.
“You must love the attention.”
“Not really,” he laughed, shaking his head.
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true.”
“You’ve got thousands of people obsessed with you.”
“I’d rather they were obsessed with the car.”
She laughed again, of course she did. “You’re funny.”
You pressed your lips into a thin line.
Then it happened.
As they started walking back towards the doors, the influencer suddenly stumbled. At least… that’s what it looked like.
One second she was walking perfectly normally. The next she let out a dramatic gasp, her body pitching sideways directly towards Isack.
It happened so quickly that instinct took over. His arm shot out without hesitation, catching her around the waist before she could hit the floor.
“You okay?” He asked immediately, concern evident in his voice.
She looked up at him, still held securely against his side.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, letting out a nervous laugh. “I’m so clumsy.”
For a moment she didn’t move. She stayed exactly where she was. One hand resting lightly against his chest, his arm still around her waist. The cameras clicked relentlessly.
Only then did she step back, smoothing down her outfit. “Thanks for catching me.”
“No worries,” Isack replied, offering a smile before dropping his arm back to his side.
From anyone else’s perspective, it was an innocent moment. A driver catching a guest before she fell and nothing more.
But from where you were sitting you’d seen the way she’d glanced down before she “tripped”, there was nothing on the floor to catch her foot, she’d angled herself towards him. And what made your blood boil wasn’t that Isack had caught her. Anyone decent would’ve done the same. It was what happened afterwards. He didn’t step away immediately. He hadn’t created any distance. He simply smiled and carried on as if the entire thing hadn’t looked unbelievably intimate.
You felt something inside you finally snap. The lemonade glass hit the table with a little more force than you’d intended causing several people nearby to look over but you didn’t notice. You were too busy watching the influencer beam at Isack as though she’d just won some sort of prize.
You stood abruptly that your chair scraped loudly across the floor. Your jaw clenched so tightly it ached.
You were moving before you’d even fully decided to. Normally confrontation wasn’t your thing. You hated awkwardness. If someone got your coffee order wrong, you’d be the one to apologise before drinking it anyway. If someone cut in front of you in a queue you’d simply sign and wait. Even Isack joked that you were incapable of raising your voice.
But there was one thing about you that he knew all too well. You had a breaking point. And once someone pushed you past it you didn’t back down.
You crossed the balcony with purposeful strides, your trainers echoing softly against the stone floor. Neither of them noticed you until you were only a few feet away.
The influencer was still smiling up at Isack, one manicured hand resting on his forearm. “Thank you so much for the tour. Honestly, you’ve made my whole weekend.”
“It was no problem,” Isack replied. “Hope you enjoy the rest of —“
“Shouldn’t you be in a meeting?” Your voice cut cleanly through the conversation.
Isack’s head snapped around, his expression shifted instantly from polite professionalism to complete surprise.
“…Y/N.”
You didn’t look at him. Not yet. Your eyes remained fixed on the hand still wrapped around his arm. Only when she finally removed it did you meet his gaze.
“I thought you had an engineering meeting.”
“I…” he glanced at his watch instinctively before looking back at you. “It’s been pushed back half an hour.”
“I see.”
There was no warmth in your voice, no smile, just two words.
The influencer looked between the pair of you. “Oh! Sorry, are you with the team?”
“I am.”
“Right,” she nodded. “Are you… his PR manager or something?”
The question hung in the air until you laughed. A short, disbelieving laugh.
Isack felt his stomach not. He recognised that laugh, it meant you were angrier than you’d let on.
“No,” you tilted your head slightly to look at her. “I’m his girlfriend.”
“Sorry?” The influencer blinked.
“I’m his girlfriend.” You repeated it a little more clearly this time. “We’ve been together for over a year.”
The colour visibly drained from her face. She looked at Isack so quickly it almost gave her whiplash. “You have a girlfriend?”
Isack rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “…Yeah.”
“You never mentioned that.”
“I…” he hesitated.
The influencer frowned. “You’ve spent nearly an hour with me.”
“Yeah I know.”
“We’ve been talking this whole time.”
“I know that.”
“And you never thought to mention your girlfriend?”
“I didn’t think—“
“No,” you interrupted. “He didn’t.”
Isack shot you a warning look. “Y/N..”
“What?”
“You don’t have to —“
“No, I’d actually love to know.” You looked back at the influencer. “How long have you been flirting with him?”
Her eyebrows knitted together. “I wasn’t flirting.”
“No?” You raised an eyebrow.
“I was just being friendly.”
“Friendly?” Your voice reminded eerily calm. “So touching his arm every thirty seconds is just how you talk to everyone?”
She folded her arms. “I touch everyone’s arm.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“I do.”
“Interesting.”
“What exactly is that supposed to mean?” She questioned, clearly offended.
“It means I watched you throw yourself at my boyfriend for the last half an hour.”
“I did not throw myself at him.”
“No?” You couldn’t stop yourself. “So you accidentally held onto his arm. Accidentally laughed at everything he said. And accidentally fell into him five minutes ago?”
Her cheeks flushed. “I actually tripped.”
“Funny. There wasn’t anything on the floor. And coincidentally you turned towards Isack just before magically falling.:
“I—“
“You know what?” You continued. “Forget it.’
You turned to Isack for the first time. “I expected better from you.”
His face fell. “Y/N can we please just—“
“No.”
“It isn’t what you think.”
“What exactly do I think Isack?”
“That I enjoyed this.”
“You certainly didn’t stop it.”
“I was trying to be polite.”
“So polite that you forgot to mention you had a girlfriend?”
“I didn’t forget.”
“Oh?” Your voice cracked despite your efforts to stay composed. “So what was it then?”
He hesitated. And that hesitation hurt more than any answer could have.
The influencer shifted awkwardly between you both. “I… I genuinely didn’t know he was taken.”
You looked at her again. “I believe you.”
She frowned slightly in surprise.
“I do,” your expression softened just enough to be sincere. “I don’t think he ever gave you a reason to think otherwise.”
The words hit Isack like a punch to the chest. “Y/N…”
“No. I’m done pretending this is okay.”
The balcony had fallen almost completely silent around the three of you. Fortunately, the camera crew had already headed downstairs with the PR team, completely unaware of the confrontation unfolding above them.
The journey back to the hotel was a blur. You couldn’t have said what route you’d taken through the paddock if someone had asked you afterwards. Your mind was busy replaying the last hour on a relentless loop. The garage, the tour, her hand on his arm, the way Isack had looked at you when you’d said I’m his girlfriend.
The expression on his face hadn’t been anger, it had been guilt and somehow that almost made it worse.
By the time you reached your hotel room, your emotions had burned themselves out. The anger that had carried you through the confrontation had been replaced by nothing more than exhaustion. You quietly closed the door behind you, slipped your paddock pass onto the desk and kicked off your trainers.
Friday practice was still going on. Normally, you’d be in the garage, watching the timing screens with the engineers, anxiously waiting for Isack to improve. Today… you couldn’t bring yourself to care.
For the first time since you had started dating him, you willingly missed one of his sessions.
Instead you headed straight for the bathroom. The hot water hit your shoulders, washing away the sticky heat of the paddock, but it couldn’t wash away the tightness in your chest.
You stayed there longer than you meant to, letting the steam fill the room until the mirror had completely fogged over. Everything felt heavy.
When you finally emerged nearly half an hour later, your hair wrapped in a towel and one of Isack’s oversized hoodies hanging from your frame, the room felt unnervingly quiet.
Your phone was lying exactly where you’d left it on the bedside table. The screen lit up the second you picked it up.
Missed Call (4)
Isack ❤️
Your stomach twisted.
Underneath the missed calls sat a handful of messages
Isack ❤️
Please answer
Can we talk?
I’m sorry
You stared at the screen for a long moment. Normally seeing his name pop up would have made you smile. Today, you simply locked the phone again. You weren’t ready. Not yet.
As the screen went dark, another notification appeared.
Instragram
Message request from jasminejackson
You frowned. Jasmine? The name didn’t immediately register. Curious you opened Instagram and tapped into the request folder. The profile picture loaded. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Around half a million followers.
Your heart sank. It was her. For a second, you considered ignoring it altogether. Instead, you opened the message.
Jasmine: Hi. I really hope this isn’t weird. I asked someone on the Red Bull team for your instagram because i wanted to apologise properly. I genuinely didn’t know Isack had a girlfriend. I know you probably don’t believe me after today, but if I’d known, I would’ve kept things more professional. I’ve spoken to my manager and out of respect for you both, I’m not posting any of the content I filmed with Isack today. I don’t want to contribute to rumours or make things worse xx
You blinked.
That… wasn’t what you expected. She’d had every opportunity to capitalise on the content. A video with a Formula One driver would undoubtedly perform well across every platform. Instead she was choosing not to post it.
Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a few moments before you finally replied.
You: Thank you. You really don’t have to do that x
Jasmine: I want to. Honestly i feel awful. Looking back now I can see I crossed the line x
You let out a sigh. Maybe she’d flirted. Maybe she’d enjoyed the attention. But she also seemed genuinely remorseful. You typed another reply.
You: You don’t need to apologise anymore. You didn’t know x
Jasmine: Still. I should’ve read the room better x
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of your lips despite everything. It was strange. You’d spent the last few hours convincing yourself you disliked this woman. Now that you were actually talking to her, she seemed surprisingly normal.
Another message popped up.
Jasmine: for what it’s worth he looked absolutely terrified when you walked over 🤣x
You couldn’t help it, a small laugh escaped your lips. The first genuine laugh you’d managed all afternoon.
You: Good x
Jasmine: 😭 harsh x
You: He deserved to sweat a little x
Jasmine: Fair enough girl x
A few seconds later another message arrived.
Jasmine: Can I tell you something honestly? X
You: Go on x
Jasmine: The entire tour he spoke about the team. The car, engineers, tyres. Honestly I think I know more about tyre degradation than I ever wanted to. I was definitely flirting. He definitely wasn’t x
You found yourself staring at that message. It didn’t erase what had happened. It didn’t make you any less upset with Isack. But hearing it from someone who had been there, someone with nothing to gain from lying. It eased one tiny corner of your mind.
You: Thank you for being honest x
Jasmine: Thank you for not hating me x
You: I don’t hate you. I was just hurt. By Isack, not you x
Jasmine: I figured. I hope you two work it out x
You: I hope so too xx
By the time the sun had begun to dip below the skyline, the room had fallen into a comfortable silence. A random sitcom play quietly on the tv, more for background noise than anything else. You aren’t really watching it. Your attention drifted between the screen and your own thoughts.
You’d almost convinced yourself that Isack wasn’t going to come. Part of you wondered whether he’d decided it would be better to give you space. Another part of you hoped he wouldn’t.
The electronic lock on the hotel door beeped. You looked up instinctively and a second later the handle turned.
Isack stepped inside, still wearing his team kit from the circuit, his backpack slung over one shoulder.
The moment his eyes found you sitting against the headboard, every ounce of tension left his body.
“Thank God you’re here,” the relief in his voice was impossible to miss.
His shoulders dropped, and a smile spread across his face so naturally it almost made your heart ache.
“I’ve missed you.”
You held his gaze for a moment. Normally those three words would’ve been enough to make you smile. Today they barely registered.
“You saw me three hours ago.”
“I know,” the smile on his face faltered.
“You’ve hardly had time to miss me.”
He slowly slipped the backpack from his shoulder and rested it beside the desk.
“I meant…” he sighed. “I’ve missed… us.”
He took a cautious step closer to you. “I’m sorry.”
You looked back towards the television. “For what?”
“For today.”
“Be specific.”
He swallowed. “For letting Jasmine flirt with me.”
“And?”
“For making you feel like I wasn’t considering your feelings.”
Your eyes finally met his again. “Anything else?”
“For making you think I didn’t respect our relationship.”
“That’s a start,” you nodded slowly.
“I deserve that.”
“You do.”
Another silence followed but it wasn’t uncomfortable, just careful. Mostly on Isack’s part.
“I genuinely didn’t realise how it looked.”
“Mhm.”
“I thought it was just being polite.”
“I know.”
“I wasn’t flirting with her babe I swear.”
“I know you weren’t.”
“You know?” He frowned slightly.
“She told me.”
“…She what?”
“We spoke.”
“You… spoke?”
You reached for your phone on the bedside table before unlocking it and holding it out. “She messaged me.”
He took the phone carefully, his eyes scanning the conversation. The further he read, the more his shoulders sank.
He let out a groan as he read Jasmine’s messages. “Oh for God’s sake…” He dropped his head into one hand. “I was completely blind.”
You softened, if only slightly. “Yeah.”
“I honestly didn’t think she was serious.”
“I know.”
“I just thought she was… outgoing.”
“You can say that again.”
“I should’ve noticed ma cherie.”
“You should have.”
“And I should’ve stopped it before it got that far.”
You nodded. “Yes.”
He handed your phone back before sitting on the edge of the bed. “I never wanted you to feel second place.”
“I didn’t feel second place Isack. I felt… forgotten.”
His face fell completely.
“I know you would’ve caught anyone who fell.”
“Of course.”
“I don’t blame you for that.”
He nodded. “But…”
“It was everything before that. The laughing, the touching, the tour. You just… kept letting it happen.”
He stared down at his hands in embarrassment “I did.”
“I kept thinking you’d say something.”
“So did I.”
“I thought eventually you’d mention you had a girlfriend.”
“I should have.”
“Well you never did.”
“I know.”
He looked up again, meeting your eyes with an honesty that made it impossible to doubt him. “If anything like that ever happens again…” He shook his head. “No.” He corrected himself. “When anything like that happens again because there’ll probably be another guest, another interview, another awkward situation… I won’t be blind to it. I’ll set the boundary. I’ll make it clear”
His voice softened as he reached for you hand and brushed over your knuckles with his thumb. “And if someone’s making you uncomfortable I won’t leave you standing there wondering why I’m not doing anything.”
You searched his face for a long moment. There wasn’t any defensiveness left, no excuses, just regret.
“I don’t want you to apologise because you think it’ll make me feel better.”
“I’m not.”
“I want you to apologise because you understand.”
“I do.”
“You really do?”
He nodded immediately. “I spent the whole drive back from the circuit wishing I could rewind the day.”
A small smile threatened to appear despite yourself. “You’ve been replaying it too?”
“About five hundred times.”
You let out a soft laugh. “So have I.”
The sound seemed to lift an enormous weight from his shoulders. “There it is.”
“What?”
“I’ve been wanting to make you laugh all day.”
You rolled your eyes at him. “It wasn’t that funny.”
“It was enough.”
He squeezed your hand gently. “So. Am I forgiven?”
You pretended to think about it for a moment longer than necessary. Then you signed dramatically. “I suppose.”
Isack’s entire face lit up.
“But…”
His smile disappeared just as quickly.
“If you ever let another girl hang off your arm again I’m pushing you into the nearest gravel trap myself.”
He laughed. “A bit dramatic.”
“Oh I’m serious babe. Very serious.”
“I know you are. And I’d probably deserve it.”
“You 100% would.”
For the first time that day, everything felt normal again. Not perfect. But normal. Without another word, Isack shifted further up the bed. You watched him curiously as he moved until he was kneeling between your legs.
“What are you doing?”
“I need a cuddle ma cherie.”
You couldn’t help smiling. “Do you?”
“Mhm.”
Before you could say anything else, he carefully lowered himself until his head rested against your chest, his arms wrapping loosely around your waist. A content sigh escaped him almost immediately.
“There.”
“You really are needy.”
“I’m exhausted.”
You laughed softly, instinctively threading your fingers through his dark hair. He practically melted beneath your touch. His eyes drifted shut as you gently scratched your nails against his scalp, smoothing his hair back from his forehead before letting it fall naturally again.
The room felt quiet. The television continued playing unnoticed in the background. Neither of you paid attention to it.
After a few peaceful moments, Isack spoke so quietly you almost didn’t hear him.
“I love you.”
Your fingers paused for only a second before continuing their slow movements through his hair. Looking down at him, you smiled to yourself.
“I love you too.”
He tilted his head just enough to look up at you.
“Even after today?”
You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head.
“Even after today.”
“I’ll do better.”
“I know you will.”
He rested impossibly closer, mumbling something into your hoodie that made you laugh.
“What was that?”
“I said… don’t stop playing with my hair.”
You smiled, shaking your head affectionately. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
The engine started. Oscar pulled out of the circuit car park and merged into the slow stream of evening traffic heading back towards the hotel. The silence in the car was suffocating. Y/N sat with her arms folded tightly across her chest, staring stubbornly out of the passenger window. She refused to look at him.
Oscar kept both hands fixed on the steering wheel. Twice he opened his mouth. Twice he closed it again.
Eventually, he cleared his throat. “…I’m sorry.”
She didn’t even turn her head. “Mhm.”
“I mean it.”
“Good.”
“I know I handled things badly.”
“You did.”
“I should’ve messaged.”
“You should’ve.”
Oscar let out a quiet breath. “I got back to the factory after you left and everything was just…” he searched for something believable. “…busy.”
“Busy?” Y/N actually laughed.
“I was in meetings.”
“So was I.”
“I had simulator work.”
“Everyone else had to work.”
“I—“
“You couldn’t send a text?”
He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “It wasn’t like that.”
“No?”
“No.”
“So what was it like?”
Oscar hesitated. Because the truth was embarrassingly simple. Every message he’d written had felt too revealing. Every conversation he’d imagined had ended with him admitting something he wasn’t ready to admit.
Instead… he’d done nothing. But couldn’t exactly say that.
“I just…” he sighed. “I kept thinking I’d message later.”
Y/N finally looked at him. “If it’s true stop giving me excuses.”
Oscar swallowed. “They’re not excuses.”
“They are.”
“No, they’re—“
“They’re everything except the actual reason.”
He couldn’t answer that. Because it was true. And Y/N noticed. “I thought so.”
Another long silence settled between them. The hotel was not far away now. Oscar knew he was running out of time.
“What if…” he glanced towards her. “…what if we got dinner tonight?”
“What?”
“Just us.”
She stared at him as though he’d completely lost his mind. “You’ve got to be joking.”
“I’m serious.”
“I’ve already got plans.”
His stomach sank. “With Ollie I’m guessing?”
“Yes.”
Oscar’s jaw tightened. “You can cancel.”
“What? No.”
“You’ve been messaging him for two weeks.”
“And?”
“You barely know him.”
She blinked in disbelief. “You don’t get a say in who I have dinner with.”
“I’m just saying —“
“No,” Y/N cut him off sharply. “You don’t get to ignore me for two weeks and then suddenly decide who I spend time with.”
Oscar looked ahead, his frustration beginning to creep back in. “I just don’t think he’s right for you.”
Y/N laughed. “And you’re basing that on what exactly?”
“He—“
“He what?”
Oscar struggled to find an answer. “He isn’t…”
“He isn’t what?”
“I don’t think he’s good enough.”
“For me?”
“Yeah.”
“You cannot be serious,” she stared at him.
“I am.”
“You’ve got some nerve.”
“I’m trying to look out for you.”
“No,” she shook her head. “You’re trying to control something that isn’t any of your business.”
“it’s exactly my business.”
“No Oscar,” her voice became firmer. “It isn’t.”
The hotel entrance came into view. Oscar pulled into the underground car park far quicker than either of them had expected. Neither of them moved when he switched the engine off. The car fell silent once again.
Y/N reached for the door handle. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Don’t.”
She stopped.
“What?”
“Please don’t just walk away.”
She slowly turned back towards him. “What more is there to say?”
“A lot.”
“I don’t think there is.”
“There is.”
She laughed bitterly. “You’ve had two weeks.”
“Jesus I know that.”
“And now suddenly you can’t stop talking.”
“I made a mistake.”
“You made a choice.”
“They’re the same thing Y/N.”
“They’re really not.”
Oscar ran an exhausted hand over his face. “I’m trying here.”
“No. You’re trying because you saw me having dinner with Ollie.”
His eyes flickered and she noticed it immediately. “There it is.”
“What?”
“The real reason.”
“That’s not—“
“It is. If I’d been sitting in my room on my own you wouldn’t have cared.”
“I would have.”
“No you wouldn’t.”
“I would. Y/N I’ve said I’m sorry.” His voice became sharper.
“And I’ve heard you.”
“What else do you want?”
“The truth.”
Oscar looked down at the steering wheel. He knew exactly what she was looking for. He just couldn’t force the words out.
Y/N gave a small, disappointed nod. “That’s what I thought.”
She reached for the door again.
“I hope you and Ollie have a lovely evening,” the sarcasm in his voice made her stop.
“Oh don’t do that.”
“Do what exactly?”
“Act like this is somehow my fault.”
“I never said it was.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I just think—“
“No,” she cut him off. “I’m doing listening to what you think.”
He stared at her. Thinking of everything to say but none of it coming out.
“You know what?” She shook her heard. “You are unbelievable. I spent two weeks thinking maybe I’d imagined everything. Turns out I didn’t imagine anything. I imagined the version of you that actually gave a shit.”
That one landed. Oscar looked genuinely hurt. But she was far from finished.
“I was stupid enough to sit there checking my phone every morning. I even texted you good luck before your race.”
“I know you did.”
“You couldn’t even reply.”
“I—“
“And now you’re telling me Ollie’s not good enough?” Y/N scoffed. “At least he actually remembers I exist.”
Oscar’s patience finally snapped. “Will you stop talking for one second?”
“No!”
“I’m being fucking serious.”
“So am I.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know exactly what I’m talking about,” she leaned closer to him. “The only reason you’re bothered is because someone else treated me the way you should have.”
Something in Oscar finally gave way. Before he had time to think better of it, he reached across the centre console, gently but firmly cupping the back of her neck.
Y/N’s eyes widened. “Oscar—“
He closed the distance between them and kissed her. For a split second she froze. Then, against every sensible thought racing through her mind… she kissed him back.
It only lasted a few seconds. Just long enough for all the anger, frustration and unspoken feelings between them to collide.
Reality returned almost instantly. Y/N pulled back abruptly, breathing harder than before. She stared at him as neither of them spoke. Without another word, she yanked open the passenger door, grabbed her backpack and climbed out.
“Y/N I—“
She didn’t let him finish. She slammed the door shut and hurried across the car park towards the hotel entrance without looking back. The automatic doors slid open then closed behind her.
Oscar remained sitting in the driver’s seat, his heart pounding.
Slowly… a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Because for those few brief seconds… she hadn’t pushed him away. She’d kissed him back.
Y/N didn’t stop running until the lift doors closed behind her. Only then did she allow herself to breathe. “What the hell…”
She pressed the heels of her hands against her burning cheeks. Her lips still tingled. He kissed me. Her stomach twisted. No.
The worst part wasn’t that Oscar had kissed her. The worst part was that she’d kissed him back. The lift chimed as it reached her floor, but she barely noticed. She walked the familiar corridor on autopilot, fumbling her key card against the sensor before finally managing to unlock her room. The second the door shut behind her, she dropped her backpack onto the floor.
“Oh for God’s sake…” she paced the room once. Twice. Three times. “What is wrong with me?”
She caught sight of herself in the mirror opposite the bed and immediately looked away. She could still picture him. The way he’d looked at her after she’d told him Ollie was taking her to dinner. The frustration in his voice. The kiss. She groaned loudly before throwing herself backwards onto the bed, burying her face in one of the pillows.
“This is a disaster.”
Her phone buzzed inside her handbag. For one ridiculous moment she wondered if it was Oscar.
Ollie] I’m downstairs whenever you’re ready ☺️
Y/N bolted upright. “Dinner… shit.”
She’d completely forgotten. She glanced at the clock, she still had ten minutes. Thankfully.
After taking several deep breaths, she hurried into the bathroom smashing cold water across her face before checking her reflection. Her cheeks were still slightly pink. She pinched them. “Pull yourself together.”
Five minutes later, she looked… mostly normal. Mostly. She grabbed her handbag again and headed back downstairs.
Ollie was waiting exactly where he’d said he would be, leaning comfortably against one of the pillars in the lobby. The second he saw her, he smiled. “There you are.”
“Sorry,” she forced a smile of her own. “I lost track of time.”
“No worries. You alright?”
Y/N hesitated for barely half a second. “Yeah.”
Ollie studied her for a moment. “You sure?”
“I’m just tired.”
He accepted the answer with a nod. “Long day.”
“Very.”
“Come on. I’ve booked us a table.”
Dinner should have been enjoyable. It was probably was. Objectively. The food was excellent. The wine was lovely. Ollie was as funny as ever, somehow managing to turn a story about accidentally shrinking one of his favourite jumpers into a ten minute comedy routine. Normally, Y/N would have been crying with laughter. But tonight, she laughed, she smiled, she joined in. But every now and then her mind drifted. Back to the car. Back to Oscar. Back to that kiss.
“…and then Mum looked at me,” Ollie was saying, completely animated. “You’ve washed it at ninety degrees haven’t you?”
Y/N laughed automatically. “You definitely did.”
“I absolutely did.”
He shook his head dramatically. “It would’ve fitted a teddy bear.”
“I’m sorry,” she smiled.
“What for?”
“I wasn’t really listening for that last bit.”
Ollie looked at her for a second before smiling kindly. “I noticed.”
Her heart sank. “You did?”
“You’ve been somewhere else all evening.”
She looked down at her plate. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologise.” He leaned back in his chair. “Bad day?”
She considered lying. “Complicated day.”
“I figured,” he nodded. “Was it Oscar?”
Y/N’s head snapped up. “What?”
“I saw the way you two were looking at each other in the garage.”
She didn’t answer.
“I also saw him giving you a lift back.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “How did you—“
“I was still outside with the mechanics,” he smiled faintly. “I saw you leaving.”
Y/N sighed. “It’s… complicated.”
“I guessed.”
“I’m really sorry,” Y/N looked at him apologetically.
“For what?”
“For probably being terrible company.”
“No,” Ollie shook his head. “You’re allowed to have complicated days.”
Another silence fell though this one felt much more comfortable.
Then, after a moment, Ollie rested his elbows lightly on the table. “Can I ask you something?”
Y/N nodded.
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“That you like him.”
Y/N froze. “I don’t…”
Her sentence faded before it ever really began.
“You don’t have to pretend with me you know. I’ve known for a while.”
“You have?”
“You look at him differently.”
“I thought I hid it.”
“You hide it from him.” He chuckled. “Not from everyone else.”
Y/N felt herself sink further into her chair. “That’s embarrassing.”
“A little,” he laughed. “But only because I think he’s exactly the same.”
She frowned. “What?”
“The bloke looks at you like you’ve personally invented sliced bread.”
Despite everything she laughed. “Don’t.”
“I’m serious.”
“He ignored me for two weeks.”
“I know he did.”
“And he kissed —“
The words escaped before she could stop them. Ollie’s eyebrows slowly lifted. “He… what?”
Y/N’s eyes widened, she’d said it out loud. She immediately covered her face with both hands. “I wasn’t supposed to say that.”
“He kissed you?”
She nodded slowly, peeking through her fingers. “…In the car.”
Ollie sat back in his chair. For several seconds, he simply processed what she’d told him. Then he let out a low whistle. “Well.”
“Well?”
“That certainly explains why you’ve barely tasted your dinner.”
“I’m an idiot,” Y/N groaned.
“No. I think you’re just two people in the middle who don’t know how to communicate. Oscar definitely likes you.”
She opened her mouth to argue but Ollie raised an eyebrow as though she was blind to it. “He kissed you.”
“…Fair point.”
“But. He also handled this really badly.”
“I know,” she nodded.
“And you have every right to be angry.”
“Oh I am.”
“I can tell,” he teased making her smile.
“What should I do?”
Ollie thought for a moment then he shrugged. “I think you should make him work for it.”
“You reckon?”
“Oh absolutely. He ignored you for two weeks. He can spend a bit longer earning your forgiveness.”
For the first time since leaving the circuit Y/N genuinely smiled.
Dinner ended on a much lighter note than it had begun. Thanks to Ollie's reassurance, and perhaps the generous amount of wine they'd shared, Y/N found herself laughing properly again. By the time the waiter brought the bill, the knot that had sat in her chest since leaving the circuit had loosened ever so slightly.
As they stepped out of the restaurant into the quiet hotel lobby, the atmosphere between them remained easy.
"Thank you," Y/N said sincerely.
"What for?”
She smiled."For tonight."
Ollie shrugged as though it were nothing. "I had a good time."
"So did I."
He looked at her for a moment before speaking again. "And... for what it's worth..."
She waited.
"I meant what I said."
"About what?"
"You deserve someone who makes the effort."
His words were simple. There was no hidden meaning. No attempt to sway her one way or another. Just honesty.
Y/N smiled softly. "I know."
He nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Bright and early."
"I hate how cheerful you are about early starts." He groaned dramatically.
"I'll make sure to remind you at six in the morning."
"Oh, you're cruel."
She laughed.
Without thinking too much about it, she stepped forward and wrapped him in a quick hug. Ollie looked slightly surprised for half a second before hugging her back.
"Night, Ollie."
"Night, Y/N."
He gave her shoulder a light squeeze before heading towards the lifts leading to his room.
Y/N watched him disappear before making her own way upstairs.
The second her bedroom door clicked shut behind her, the silence returned. She slipped off her trainers and dropped her handbag onto the desk before sitting on the edge of the bed.
Her phone lay beside her. Oscar's contact was still open from the previous night. She stared at it.
Ollie's words replayed in her head. Make him work for it.
She should. She absolutely should.
Instead… the wine she'd drunk over dinner gave her just enough courage, or perhaps just enough stupidity, to ignore that advice completely. Before she could think too hard about it, she typed a message.
Y/N] Room 814.
She stared at it. Her thumb hovered over the send button. Don’t. She pressed it anyway. The message delivered instantly.
"Oh, God."
She immediately threw her phone onto the bed as though it had personally betrayed her.
"What have I just done?"
She stood up. “No." She shook her head. "I'm deleting it."
She snatched the phone back up.
Too late.
Read.
"Oh, brilliant.” She buried her face in one hand. "I've actually lost my mind."
Maybe he'd ignore it. Maybe he'd gone to sleep. Maybe—
Three sharp knocks echoed through the room. Y/N froze. She slowly turned towards the door.
"No..."
Another knock. Her heart began hammering. She glanced at the clock. Three minutes. He'd made it from his room in three minutes. Taking one steadying breath, she walked across the room and rested her hand on the door handle. For one brief second she considered pretending she wasn't there. Instead… She opened the door. Oscar stood on the other side, he’d clearly changed the second he'd reached his room. Gone was the black shirt he'd worn in the car. Instead, he wore a plain grey t shirt that clung slightly to his shoulders and a pair of dark grey sweatpants. His hair was still slightly damp, as though he'd splashed water over it after getting back.
He looked...Far too comfortable. Far too handsome. Y/N immediately pushed the thought away. Neither of them spoke.
Oscar broke the silence first.
"You texted.”
"I know."
"You sent me your room number."
"I know."
"I wasn't sure if it was an accident."
She folded her arms. "It wasn't."
He nodded once. "So..."
"So."
Another silence. Somehow it felt even more awkward than sitting in the car together.
Oscar rubbed the back of his neck. "I nearly sprinted here."
A tiny smile threatened to appear on Y/N's face. She fought it. "You probably shouldn't admit that."
"I thought you might've changed your mind."
"I nearly did."
"But?"
She looked at him for a long moment."But I'm tired of arguing."
His shoulders visibly relaxed."So am I."
She stepped backwards, opening the door a little wider. "You'd better come in then."
Oscar hesitated."You sure?"
She gave him a look. "I didn't text you my room number so we could have this conversation in the corridor."
"...Fair enough."
He stepped inside cautiously. The door clicked shut behind him. For the first time since the car park they were finally alone. With nowhere left to run from the conversation they'd both been avoiding.
The noise of the restaurant carried on around them; cutlery clinking against plates, quiet conversations from nearby tables and the occasional burst of laughter from another group but at their table, the atmosphere had become noticeably strained.
Oscar’s eyes drifted from Y/N to Ollie and then back again. “I didn’t realise you two were… a think.”
“What?” Y/N blinked.
Ollie looked just as confused. “We’re not.”
Oscar’s gaze lingered on the half finished bottle of win between them. “It looks like it.”
“It’s dinner,” Y/N folded her arms. “Just dinner.”
Oscar nodded slowly, though the movement felt more sarcastic than understanding. “Right.”
“It is,” Ollie replied evenly. “We spent two weeks messaging while Y/N was back at university, and I asked if she wanted to grab something to eat when she got here.”
Oscar’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. “You’ve been messaging?”
The question slipped out before he could stop himself.
“Yeah,” Ollie frowned.
“What exactly are you getting at?” Y/n asked as she looked at him in disbelief.
“I’m not getting at anything.”
“It sounds like you are.”
Oscar sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I just…”
He stopped himself. What was he trying to say? He wasn’t entirely sure anymore.
Y/N looked at him expectantly. When no explanation came, she broke first. “Ollie’s right. It’s just dinner.”
Oscar gave a single nod. “Fine.”
Another awkward silence stretched between them.
Finally Oscar took a small step backwards. “I’ll…” he glanced between the pair of them one last time, “… leave you to your date.”
Before either of them had chance to correct him again, he turned and walked away through the restaurant. Y/N watched him disappear through the doorway before looking back at Ollie. They both sat there for a second. Then, almost simultaneously —
“What…?”
Y/N laughed in complete disbelief. Ollie shook his head.
“I’ve genuinely got no idea what that was.”
“Me neither.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that.”
She picked up her wine glass. “I don’t understand him.”
Ollie gave a small shrug. “Neither do I.”
For a few moments, neither of them said anything. Eventually Ollie smiled. “Your chips are getting cold.”
Y/N laughed, grateful for the change of subject. “You really know how to lighten the mood.”
“I try.”
The conversation gradually returned to normal. Not immediately. The interruption lingered in both of their minds for a while, but Ollie had an easy way of talking that slowly pulled Y/N back out of her thoughts. They finished the rest of their meal discussing holiday destinations they’d always wanted to visit and arguing over whether beach holidays were better than city breaks. By the time dessert plates had been cleared away, Y/N realised she hadn’t thought about Oscar for almost twenty minutes. It was a welcome change.
The corridors of the hotel were quiet as they stepped out of the lift on Y/N’s floor. Most of the team had already disappeared into their rooms ahead of another early start at the circuit. They stopped outside her door.
“Thanks for tonight,” Y/N said, adjusting the strap of her handbag. “I had a really nice time.”
“So did I,” Ollie smiled.
“I’m glad you asked.”
“I nearly didn’t.”
“Really?” She tilted her head.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes.”
“I’ve no idea why,” Y/N laughed.
“I overthink things,” Ollie smiled sheepishly.
“You?”
“I know.”
“I would’ve never guessed.”
He chuckled before he stepped a little closer. “Well I’ll let you get some sleep.”
Before she had the chance to respond, he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss against her cheek.
It was brief. Sweet. Completely respectful. When he stepped back, Y/N felt the warmth spreading across her face almost immediately.
“Goodnight Y/N.”
“Night Ollie,” she smiled.
He gave her a smile before disappearing back towards the lifts. Y/N unlocked her room and stepped inside. Within twenty minutes she’d changed into an oversized t-shirt and some pyjama shorts, washed off the little makeup she’d been wearing and tied her hair into a loose bun.
The day had finally caught up with her.
She climbed into bed with a quiet sigh, pulling the duvet over herself before reaching for her phone on the bedside table. She expected to find nothing more than a couple of university meals. Instead… one unread message.
Oscar.
She frowned, for a second, she simply stared at his name. The irony wasn’t lost on her. Two weeks of silence and now he wanted to message. Her thumb hovered over the notification before she finally opened it.
Oscar] I owe you a proper apology.
Another message arrived almost immediately.
Oscar] I handled tonight really badly.
Then a third.
Oscar] I wasn’t trying to be a dick.
Oscar] Can we talk to tomorrow?
She read the messages twice. Then a third time. A week ago she would’ve replied instantly. Now… she wasn’t so sure. She locked her phone without typing a single word.
Turning off the beside lamp, she put down her phone beside her. If Oscar wanted to have that conversation he was going to have to wait. For once he’d know exactly how it felt.
Thursday at a Formula One circuit was a little weird. Technically, the race weekend had started. The paddock was alive with cameras, journalists and hospitality guests, and the drivers were already making their way through an endless schedule of media commitments. Yet inside the garages, it was still very much a working day. Mechanics were fitting bodywork, engineers were checking systems and performance staff were preparing the cars for Friday’s first practice session.
By half past eight, Y/N was already in the McLaren garage. The familiar smell of fuel and rubber made her feel more settled than she had at any point during the last two weeks. She carried her laptop and notebook through the chaos, weaving past a mechanic pushing a tyre trolley before reaching her desk at the back of the garage.
Her workspace was set up as it usually was, someone had even watered the small plant she’d forgotten about at the last race she was at because the analytics corner looked too depressing without it. She smiled faintly at that.
Setting her coffee down beside the keyboard, she plugged in her laptop and began pulling up the overnight simulation data. The plan was simple; spend the morning reviewing long run tyre degradation models and comparing them against the updated track evolution figures the factory had sent through overnight. She was just about to sit down when a voice called her name from the entrance of the garage.
“Y/N! Have you got two minutes?”
She looked up to see Hannah from the McLaren social media team hurrying towards her, phone already in hand. Hannah was one of those people who seemed permanently cheerful, not matter what time of day it was.
“Maybe,” Y/N said cautiously. “That depends what you’re about to ask me.”
“A quick TikTok,” Hannah grinned.
“That’s exactly what I was afraid of,” Y/N laughed.
“Please? It will take five minutes and I promise it’s not one of the embarrassing dance ones.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“And this time I mean it.”
Y/N glanced at the data loading on her screen. She had time.
“Alright,” she agreed. “Five minutes.”
“You’re the best!”
Hannah practically bounced on the spot before leading her towards the front of the garage where the lighting was better.
“So,” Hannah explained as they walked, “we’re doing a little ‘Guess the telemetry’ challenge. I’ve got three screenshots from previous races with all the identifying information removed. One of you has to describe what you think the car is doing, and the other has to guess the corner and the driver.”
Y/N nodded. “That actually sounds quite fun.”
“I know. We occasionally have some good ideas.”
They rounded the nose of the car and Y/N’s steps faltered for the briefest moment. Oscar was there. Of course he was.
He stood beside one of the workbenches in his orange McLaren polo shirt and blue jeans while he chatted with another member of the media team. When he noticed Y/N approaching, he straightened slightly.
“Morning,” he said carefully.
Y/N looked straight past him and focused on Hannah instead. “Where do you want me?”
Hannah’s eyes flicked between them for a fraction of a second. If she noticed the tension, she was professional enough not to mention it.
“Perfect just stand here.”
She positioned them side by side in front of the garage opening, with the papaya orange car visible in the background.
“Right the rules are simple. Y/N you’re the telemetry expert so you’ll describe the graph and write down who you think it is. Oscar you have to guess whether it’s from one of your laps or Lando’s. Oscar if you get more than two wrong, you have to buy coffee!”
“That seems unfair already,” Oscar commented.
“Ready?” Hannah held up her phone. “Three, two, one… go!”
The first telemetry trace appeared on the screen in front of her. Y/N immediately slipped into work mode. “Okay, we’ve got a very short braking phase, minimum speed around 140 kilometres per hour, and the throttle shows a double application, which means the driver had a small snap of oversteer on exit.”
“That’s turn 9 in Barcelona, and it’s definitely Lando because I would never have that much oversteer.”
“Wrong on both counts,” Hannah announced.
Y/N couldn’t help laughing. “You absolutely would have that much oversteer.”
“Slander!”
“The data says otherwise.”
For the next few minutes, they bounced back and forth naturally for the camera. Y/N described brake pressure traces and steering inputs, while Oscar made increasingly dramatic guesses and tried to argue with the telemetry. Anyone watching would have assumed they were perfectly fine.
Hannah was delighted. “This is gold,” she said between takes. “One more round.”
The final graph appeared and Y/N tilted her head trying to get a better look at it. “Full throttle for over twelve seconds… that’s a long straight. Heavy braking, down to second gear and the steering trace is really aggressive on entry.”
“Monza, turn 1, and that’s me because nobody else attacks the entry like that.”
Hannah looked at the answer card and laughed. ‘Unfortunately for your ego, that’s actually Lando.”
“Impossible.”
“Looks like you’re buying coffee,” Y/N said lightly, the perfect amount of teasing for the camera.
Hannah lowered her phone. “And we’re done! That was brilliant, thank you both.”
“No problem,” Y/N replied immediately.
Before Oscar could say anything else, she turned and walked straight back into the garage. The smile disappeared from her face the second the cameras were no longer on her.
She reached her desk, sat down and opened the tyre model as if the last five minutes had never happened.
Across the garage, Oscar watched her for a moment, clearly debating whether to follow.
He took a step forward then stopped when one of the race engineers called his name for a media briefing.
Y/N didn’t look up once. Not when Hannah excitedly showed another member of the social team the footage they’d just filmed. Not even when she became aware of Oscar glancing back in her direction before disappearing into the paddock. Instead, she put her headset on, focused on the telemetry filling her screen and acted as though he simply wasn’t there at all.
Thursdays always ended more quickly than Friday, Saturday or Sunday. With no cars running, most of Y/N’s workload had been completed before lunch. She spent the afternoon refining simulation data with the strategy department, checking a few updated weather models for the weekend and sitting in on a briefing about tyre allocation. Compared to the organised chaos of race days, it almost felt… peaceful.
Before she knew it, people were beginning to pack away for the evening.
Mechanics wheeled equipment deeper into the garage while engineers closed laptops and discussed the following morning’s run plans. The media team disappeared almost as quickly as they’d arrived, already editing the content they’d filmed throughout the day.
Y/N shut down her laptop and slid it carefully into her backpack.
“Calling it a day?”
She looked up to see Ollie walking towards her, a slightly apologetic look already on his face.
“I was hoping to.”
He winced. “About that…”
“What?”
“I don’t think I can give you a lift back. Lando’s got something on the car that we want to investigate before tomorrow.” He gestured vaguely towards the front of the garage, where several members of the crew were already crowded around the papaya car. “They’re staying late and I’m needed.”
She slung her backpack over one shoulder. “I survived getting Ubers before you came along.”
“I suppose you did,” he laughed. “I’ll see you at dinner again. If you’re still up for it?”
“I am.”
His expression brightened. “Good. I’ll meet you in the lobby again but make it half eight?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
He smiled before jogging back towards the group of mechanics already calling his name. Y/N watched him disappear before making her way out through the paddock. The evening sun was beginning to dip lower, bathing the car park in warm golden light. She reached into her handbag for her phone as she walked. One tap and she’d have an Uber booked. Simple.
She’d barely unlocked the screen when the familiar growl of a performance engine rolled slowly towards her. A dark McLaren sports car pulled up neatly beside the pavement. Y/N didn’t even need to look through the driver’s window to know who it was.
The passenger window lowered.
“You need a lift?”
Oscar.
She let out a short laugh. Not an amused one. More the kind that escaped when something became so absurd there was nothing else left to do. “You’re joking.”
“No?”
“I think I’ll stick with an Uber thanks.”
“You don’t need to.”
She put her phone into her pocket for a moment. “I’m perfectly capable.”
“I know you are —“
“So I’ll get an Uber.”
Oscar rested one arm on the steering wheel. “Or…” he nodded towards the passenger seat. “… you could let me drive you.”
Y/N folded her arms. “No.”
“Y/N—“
“I said no.”
“Can you just hear me out?” He sighed.
“I’ve heard enough.”
“You haven’t heard anything.”
“You’re right actually. I’ve had two weeks of hearing absolutely fuck all.”
The words landed harder than she expected and far more than Oscar had expected.
“I deserved that.”
“Yeah you did.”
“I know.”
She turned away from the car, getting her phone back out from her pocket. “I’m ordering an Uber.”
“Please don’t.”
She laughed again, shaking her head. “You’ve got some nerve.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
He watched her unlock her phone again. “Y/N.”
She ignored him.
“I’m serious Y/N.”
“So am I.”
Oscar closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, whatever patience he’d been clinging to had almost disappeared.
“Oh for God’s sake.”
Before Y/N could react, he pushed open the driver’s door and climbed out.
“Oscar…”
He walked straight to her.
“What are you doing?”
Without answering, he reached for the strap of her backpack. She instinctively stepped backwards. “Oi!”
He lifted it cleanly off her shoulder.
“What the — Oscar!” She reached for it. “Give it back!”
“No.”
“Are you taking the piss?”
“Nope.”
He walked straight to the passengers side of his car.
“Oscar!” She hurried after him. “Seriously, give me my damn bag.”
He ignored her protests, opening the passenger door and placing the bag in the footwell. Y/N stared at him in disbelief.
“Have you actually lost your mind?”
He turned back to face her. “Nope.”
“I’ll call security.”
“They know me.”
“I’m being so serious right now.”
“As am I.”
She threw her hands into the air. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I’ve been trying to talk to you since last night.”
“I don’t want to talk.”
“Tough.”
She glared at him. “You don’t get to ignore me for two weeks and then suddenly decide when we’re having a conversation.”
“I know.”
“No, clearly you fucking don’t.”
A few members of another team glanced over briefly before continuing towards their own cars.
Oscar lowered his voice. “I know I messed up.”
“You did.”
“And you’re making this worse.”
“Probably.” She folded her arms tightly across her chest. “So give me my bag.”
“No.”
“…No?”
“No.”
“Oscar.”
“No!”
She let out a disbelieving laugh. “I genuinely cannot believe you.”
He looked at her steadily. “I’m not letting you disappear in an Uber again.”
“I don’t need your permission.”
“Maybe not.”
“So give me my bag back.”
“No.”
She took a step closer. “You are unbelievable.”
“And you’re stubborn.”
“I’m stubborn?”
“You’ve said no before I’ve even opened my mouth.”
“You had two weeks to open yours.”
That shut him up. Only for a moment. He exhaled sharply before rubbing both hands over his face. “I’m trying to fix this.”
“Bit late.”
“I gathered.”
“No,” Y/N shook her head. “You haven’t.”
Finally, Oscar pointed towards the passenger door. “Just…” His frustration finally broke through. “…will you shut up for five minutes and get in the fucking car?”
Y/N stared at him. “You don’t seriously think that’s going to convince me.”
“I honestly don’t care how it convinces you anymore.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m tired.”
“As am I.”
“I’m frustrated.”
“So am I!”
“I’ve apologised.”
“And?”
“And I just want twenty minutes where you actually let me explain.”
“I don’t owe you that Oscar.”
“No. I know you don’t. But I’m asking anyway.”
Y/N stood there for several long seconds. She should walk away. She should demand her bag back. She should call another member of the team. Instead…
With a long exasperated sigh, she yanked open the passenger door. “This doesn’t mean I’m not still pissed off with you.”
“I know.”
She climbed into the seat, slamming the door behind her hard enough to make the whole car shake. Oscar allowed himself the smallest breath of relief before walking around to the driver’s side. As he climbed behind the wheel, neither of them spoke.
The silence between them felt heavier than anything either of them could have said.
can i make a request please? Can you do an angst for Franco Colapinto where they have been dating for like 8 months behind closed doors but in public theyre at a distance? In an interview someone asks him if he’s in a relationship and he says hes single and it upsets her? Something like that please
Of course you can lovely. Hope this okay for you xx
I’m Single - Franco Colapinto
Franco Colapinto x Reader
Word Count: 2702
Warnings: Angst with no happy ending (oops). Cursing.
There was an unspoken rule between you and Franco. The moment either of you stepping into the Formula One paddock… you became strangers. Not because either of you wanted to hide your relationship but because you’d both agreed it was the easiest way to protect it.
Eight months earlier, everything had started so unexpectedly. You’d met through a mutual friend during a charity event in Monaco. Neither of you had expected much from a conversation that had started over an argument about who made the best coffee.
Franco insisted Argentina. You insisted Italy. Three hours later, you’d completely forgotten what you’d been debating. Instead, you were sat on the harbour until well past midnight, talking about everything and nothing. It had felt… easy. Something both of you realised was incredibly rare.
By your third date, Franco had warned you what dating a Formula One driver actually looked like. “It’s not glamorous,” he’d admitted, intertwining your fingers with his across the dinner table. “It’s airports, FaceTimes, cancelled plans and people making assumptions about everything.”
“I don’t care about glamorous,” you’d smiled.
He’d searched your face, almost making sure you understood. “There’ll be cameras.”
“I know.”
“And if they know about us…”
He’d trailed off and you squeezed his hand.
“Then we keep it ours.”
It had become your promise. Yours. Not the internets, not the media’s, just yours.
So when race weekends came around, you adapted surprisingly quickly. If you were invited into the paddock, you’d arrive separately. You never walked together. Never stood too close. Never shared lingering glances if there were cameras nearby.
To everyone else, you were simply another familiar face with a paddock pass. Someone Franco happened to nod at in passing. Nothing more. Sometimes he’d offer you the same polite smile he gave everyone else. Sometimes he’d walk straight past you without so much as a second glance. It had stung the first couple of times. Instinctively, you’d wanted to reach for his hand or congratulate him after a good session. Instead, you’d learned to celebrate from afar. A subtle thumbs up as he climbed out of the car. A smile he’d pretend not to notice, only to text you five minutes later.
Saw you ❤️
That had become your language. Private smiles, hidden glances, messages sent from opposite sides of the paddock. Once the garage doors closed and the cameras disappeared, everything changed. He’d find you in the hotel lobby, baseball cap pulled low over his face. Sometimes he’d simply hold his hand out as soon as he saw you. No words. Just the silent request. Come here.
Other nights, he’d wrap his arms around you the second your hotel room door clicked shut, burying his face in the crook of your neck as though he’d been holding himself back all day.
“I’ve missed you,” he’d mumble.
“You saw me three hours ago.”
“I know.”
“You ignored me.”
“I had to.”
“I know.”
Then he’d kiss your forehead, apologising in the only way he could.
The pretending never bothered you, because it stopped the rumours. It stopped strangers dissecting your relationship online. It let the two of you have something that belonged only to you. There was just one rule. One thing you’d promised each other from the beginning. If either of you were ever asked about your relationship… you wouldn’t lie. You simply wouldn’t answer. Franco had been the one to suggest it.
“If someone asks if I have a girlfriend,” he’d said one evening while the two of you lay tangled together on the sofa of his apartment, “I’ll just say I’d rather keep my private life private.”
You’d looked up from where your head rested on his chest.
“And if they keep asking?”
“I’ll say the same thing.”
“You won’t deny I exist?”
His expression had softened instantly. He’d tilted your chin upwards before pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “Never.”
You’d smiled against his lips. “Promise?”
“I promise.”
It had sounded so simple. So easy. And for eight months it had been. Until one interview changed everything.
Keeping your relationship private had once felt exciting. It was stolen kisses in empty hotel corridors. Hands brushing together under restaurant tables. Late night walks through unfamiliar cities where for an hour or two Franco wasn’t a Formula One driver and you weren’t constantly looking over your shoulder to see if anyone recognised him. It was yours.
But somewhere over the last eight months it had become exhausting. Every race weekend gelt like you were playing a role. You had to think before every movement. Don’t stand too close. Don’t look at him for too long. If someone spoke to you while he was nearby, you waiting until he’d walked away before joining the conversation. If he scored points, you celebrated alone. If he had a bad race, you couldn’t even hug him until hours later.
It wasn’t the lack of photos on social media that bothered you. You didn’t care about posting pictures or hard launching your relationship to millions of strangers. You just wanted to be able to congratulate your boyfriend after qualifying without pretending he was just another driver.
You wanted to be able to reach for his hand, to sit beside him, to exist together without constantly wondering who might be watching. The pretending was becoming harder. Especially because it no longer felt like you were protecting your relationship. It felt like you were hiding it.
Still. You loved him. And you knew why he’d wanted to keep things private in the first place. He was still establishing himself in Formula One. Every interview, every mistake, every rumour became a headline within minutes. The last thing either of you wanted was for your relationship to become another topic for strangers to pick apart.
So you kept your promise. Even when it hurt.
The paddock buzzed with its usual energy as qualifying approached. Mechanics hurried between garages, engineers stared intently at laptops and camera crews chased drivers through the narrow walkways, hoping to grab one last interview before they disappeared into their team motor homes. You’d watched Franco disappear into the media pen twenty minutes earlier with a small smile. He’d caught your eye for barely a second. Just enough for the corner of his mouth to twitch upwards before replacing it with the polite smile he wore for everyone else.
It was almost funny. Almost.
Now, you sat inside the hospitality with an ice coffee growing warmer by the minute, trying to distract yourself while he finished his media duties. A notification popped up across your phone.
Sky Sports F1 posted a new video
You smiled absent mindedly. Without thinking, you tapped it. The video opened with Franco smiling into the camera, still dressed in his race suit, a microphone held out towards him. The interviewer started with the usual questions. How had practice gone? How was the balance of the car? What were his expectations for qualifying?
You listened with half an ear, taking another sip of your drink.
“You’re becoming quite popular with the fans recently,” the interviewer said.
“I don’t know about that,” Franco laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Oh, I think you do,” the interviewer teased. “I’ve got to ask… are you seeing anyone?”
Your attention sharpened instantly. You remembered that conversation on his sofa months ago as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.
“I’ll just say I’d rather keep my private life private.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
He’d brush it off and the interview would move on. Simple.
Instead…
“No,” Franco chuckled.
Your face faltered.
“I’m single.”
Your stomach dropped.
The interviewer laughed. “So no girlfriend hiding somewhere?”
“No, he shrugged casually. “It’s just me.”
The world around you suddenly felt impossibly quiet. You barely registered the interviewer moving onto the next question. Barely noticed the mechanics walking past your table. Barely heard the chatter coming from inside. All you could hear were those two words. I’m single.
Not “I’d rather keep my private life private.” Not even, “I’d rather keep that between me and the people close to me.” Just, “I’m single.”
You replayed the clip. Surely you’d misheard. Maybe he’d been joking. Maybe the audio had cut out.
Maybe —
“I’m single.”
Again.
Your throat tightened. It wasn’t the fans believing him that hurt. It wasn’t the headlines that would inevitably follow. It was the fact he had looked directly into the camera and denied the existence of the relationship you’d spent eight months protecting alongside him. A relationship you’d sacrificed so much normality for.
He’d promised. He had looked you in the eyes, kissed your lips and promised that if anyone ever asked, he would never pretend you didn’t exist. Your phone screen blurred. You blinked quickly, realising tears had gathered before you’d even noticed. You locked the screen immediately, placing the phone down on the table.
You refused to cry here. Not in the middle of the hospitality area. Not where anyone could see. You took a slow, shaky breath. Then another. Maybe he hadn’t thought. Maybe he’d panicked. Maybe he’d wanted the questions to stop before qualifying. You tried every excuse you could think of. None of them stopped your heart from breaking. Because whatever his reason was he’d still broken the one promise he’d sworn not to break.
The hotel room was silent. Painfully silent. You’d been back for almost three hours. Qualifying had come and gone without a single second of it. You had gone back to the hotel before it had even started.
Your phone buzzed constantly.
Franco: Where are you?
Franco: Quali is going to start soon
Franco: Everything okay?
You’d read every message. You hadn’t answered a single one. What was there to say?
Congratulations on qualifying. By the way, I watched you tell the world you don’t have a girlfriend.
Instead you’d showered, changed into one of France’s oversized hoodies and sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly out of the hotel window.
The room no longer felt like your little escape from the paddock. I just felt lonely.
A click echoed through the room. The hotel door opened.
“There you are,” Franco breathed, relief washing over his face. “Jesus, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
You didn’t turn around and he frowned immediately.
“…Hey.”
Silence. He dropped his backpack on the desk.
“You missed qualifying.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t answer my messages.”
“I know.”
He took a few cautious steps towards you. “Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” You laugh, a quiet humourless laugh.
His stomach sank. “You saw it.”
“I saw it,” you finally looked at him.
Franco closed his eyes for a second. “…Okay.”
“No not okay.”
“I know what it looked like.”
“It looked like my boyfriend told the entire world he was single.”
“I panicked.”
“You lied.”
“I—“
“You promised me Franco.”
“I know I did,” his jaw clenched.
“No,” you stood up, finally facing him properly. “You don’t get to say you know.”
His shoulders stiffened.
“You looked me in the eyes all those months ago and promised you would never deny our relationship.”
“I didn’t deny our relationship.”
“You literally said you were single.”
“It was an interview!”
“So?”
“So I answered the question!”
“You could’ve answered it the way we agreed.”
“I know that,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Then why didn’t you?”
“I don’t fucking know!” He snapped.
The sudden raise in his voice made the room fall deathly quiet. Franco immediately looked regretful. You simply stared at him.
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“You just… forgot?”
“I was trying to get out of there before qualifying.”
“So I became the easiest thing to throw away?”
“Don’t do that,” his eyebrows knitted together.
“Do what?”
“Twist my words.”
“I’m not twisting anything.”
“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then tell me how you meant it.”
He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Because there wasn’t an explanation that could make it sound better.
“Exactly,” you laughed bitterly.
Franco rubbed both hands over his face. “For fucks sake.”
“No Franco,” you shook your head. “For eight months I’ve stood ten feet away from you pretending I don’t know you.”
“I never asked you to pretend —“
“Yes you did.”
“I asked you to keep us private.”
“This isn’t private anymore.”
“What?” He frowned.
“This is secret.”
“They’re the same thing.”
“No they’re not!” Your voice cracked. “Private means people don’t know every detail of our relationship. Secret means my own boyfriend tells the world I don’t exist.”
Franco looked away from you. “I never said you didn’t exist.”
“You may as well have.”
“Oh come on,” he threw his hands in the air.
“No you come on,” you felt months of frustration bubbling at the surface. “I’m tired.”
“Tired of what?”
“This,” you gestured between the two of you. “Walking past each other, acting like strangers, celebrating your good races alone, watching everyone flirt with you because they think you’re available.”
“What?” His head shot up.
“You heard me.”
“I’ve never flirted with anyone.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“Then what’s your point?”
“My point is that everyone thinks they have a chance because today you announced that you’re single.”
“Oh my god.”
“What?”
“You’re seriously making this bigger than it is.”
“Bigger than it is?” Your heart dropped.
“Yes.”
“You don’t think this is a big deal?”
“I think you’re blowing one interview completely out of proportion.”
You stared at him in disbelief. “Out of proportion?”
“Yes.”
A hollow laugh escaped you. “You know what?”
“What?”
“I actually defended you.”
“What are you talking about?” He frowned.
“When I watched it…” your eyes filled despite your best efforts. “… I sat there making excuses for you. I told myself you panicked, that you didn’t mean it. That you’d be devastated when you realised what you’d done. But you’re not..”
“I’m standing here apologising.”
“No. You’re standing here defending it.”
Franco’s patience finally snapped. “What the fuck do you actually want me to say?”
“I want you to admit you hurt me.”
“I’ve said sorry!”
“You’ve justified it after every apology.”
“Because you’re acting like I’ve cheated on you!”
“I’m acting like the man I love erased me.”
“I didn’t erase you!”
“You told the world I wasn’t your girlfriend!”
“I told the world I was single!”
“THATS THE SAME THING!”
The words echoed around the room. Neither of you spoke. Franco’s chest rose and fell heavily.
“So what now?” He asked coldly. “You want me to announce us?”
“I never asked for that.”
“You clearly fucking do.”
“I asked for honesty!”
“I was trying to protect us!”
“Protect who?” You laughed through your tears. “Because it certainly wasn’t me.”
“Unbelievable,” Franco scoffed.
“No, what’s unbelievable is that you don’t understand why this hurts.”
“I understand.”
“No you don’t.”
“I do!”
“No!”
He let out a frustrated groan, pacing across the room before spinning back around. “You know what?”
“What?”
“I’m fucking exhausted.”
“So am I.”
“No.”
He pointed towards the door. “I’m exhausted from having this same conversation every few months. There’s always something. The hiding, the travelling, the lack of time together. Now it’s one fucking interview.”
You stared at him. “I’ve never complained about any of that.”
“You’ve hinted at it.”
“Because I was struggling Franco!”
“And I was trying my fucking best!”
The words clung to the air. Then came the one that neither of you could take back.
“If being with me is so fucking difficult,” Franco said, his voice low and sharp, “then maybe you should stop making it my problem.”
The room went completely still. You looked at him as if you didn’t recognise the person standing in front of you. He realised what he’d said the instant it left his mouth. His expression changed immediately. The anger disappeared. Replaced by horror.
“…I…”
But it was too late. A slipped silently down your cheek. You nodded once. Very slowly.
“I think…” your voice was barely above a whisper, “… you should leave.”
Franco took a step forward instinctively. “No I didn’t mean —“
“Please.” You couldn’t even look at him anymore. “Just leave.”
For the first time in eight months… he didn’t know how to fix what he’d just broken.
The apartment was unusually quiet for a Friday evening. With no simulator sessions, no media appearances and no flights to catch until Monday, it was one of the rare weekends where Kimi could simply exist.
He was sprawled across the sofa, scrolling aimlessly through his phone while you sat cross-legged on the rug in front of of the coffee table, carefully lining up bottles and tubes you’d just unpacked from a shopping trip.
Kimi looked over the back of his phone. “What are you doing?”
You held up a small glass bottle with a smile. “My skin stuff.”
“You really need all of that?” He raised an eyebrow.
“It’s called a routine Kimi.”
“It looks expensive.”
“That’s because it is.”
“Crazy,” he snorted.
You rolled your eyes at him before continuing to arrange everything in order. Cleanser. Toner. Serum. Moisturiser Lip balm.
Kimi watched you for another minute before speaking again. “So… what does it actually do?”
“I thought it was crazy?” You looked at him surprised.
“I didn’t say it was bad,” he shrugged innocently. “I’m just curious.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “Come here.”
“Why?” He frowned.
“I’m going to do your skincare.”
His eyes widened instantly. “My what?”
“Your skincare.”
“I don’t have skincare.”
“Exactly.”
Kimi let out a laugh, shaking his head. “I wash my face.”
“Why what?”
“Water…”
“Kimi…” you stared at him.
“What?”
“Just water?”
“…Sometimes body wash.”
You gasped so dramatically that he actually started laughing.
“Body wash?” You repeated in disbelief.
“It cleans things.”
“It’s for your body!”
“My face is attached to my body.”
“That is the most boy answer I have ever heard,” you pointed a finger at him.
He couldn’t stop smiling now, his cheeks beginning to ache. “So dramatic.”
“I’m trying to save your skin.”
“It seems fine to me.”
“It could be glowing.”
He tilted his head. “Glowing?”
“Trust me.”
He looked between you and the collection of products scattered across the table. “You’ll stop talking if I let you?”
“For at least fifteen minutes.”
“Hmmm.” He pretended to think about it before letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine.”
“Yay!” You beamed.
“I already regret this.”
“You won’t.”
He pushed himself off the sofa and wandered over, standing in front of you with his hands shoved into the pockets of his joggers. “So?”
“So… sit.”
He lowered himself onto the rug opposite you, knees brushing yours.
“Now what?”
You picked up the soft fabric headband from beside you.
“First things first.”
“No,” he said as he eyed it up suspiciously.
“Yes.”
“It has ears.”
“They’re teddy bear ears.”
“I am not wearing teddy bear ears.”
“You’ll look adorable.”
“I’ll look ridiculous,” he folded his arms.
“No.”
“Please?” You pouted dramatically.
He looked away, trying very hard not to smile. “…No.”
You reached over anyway. “Kimi!”
“Don’t,” he leaned backwards.
“Kimi.”
“No.”
You lunged at him. He laughed so hard he nearly fell over backwards as you managed to stretch the fluffy headband over his dark curls.
“There.” You sat back proudly.
“Happy now?” He stared at you.
You bit your lip to stop yourself laughing. “So happy.”
“Actually,” he admitted quietly, looking at himself in the camera on his phone, “it’s kind of cute.”
“I told you.”
He slipped his phone back onto the coffee table before looking back at you. “So skincare expert. Fix my face.”
You smiled as you reached for the first bottle. “Right,” you said, slipping into your best beauty influencer voice. “Welcome to your first skincare routine.”
Kimi rested his elbows on his knees. “I feel like I’m about to be experimented on.”
“I promise you’ll survive.”
“We’ll see.”
You dampened a reusable cleansing pad with warm water in the bowl beside you before dispensing a small amount of cleaner onto it.
“Close your eyes.”
“Why?” He asked suspiciously.
“So I don’t accidentally poke you in the eye.”
“…Fair.”
He obediently shut his eyes. The second the cleanser touched his cheek, he flinched. “It’s cold!”
“Oh my God, you’re worse than a child,” you laughed.
“I wasn’t expecting it.”
“It’ll warm up.”
He muttered something under his breath in Italian, making you grin. “What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Kimi.”
“I said you could’ve warned me.”
“I literally told you to close your eyes.”
“Not about the temperature.”
You shook your head, gently working the cleanser across his forehead before down his nose. Despite all of his complaining, he stayed perfectly still.
Every now and then one of his eyes would crack open slightly.
“Are you peeking?” You asked.
“No.”
“You are.”
“I just need to know what’s happening.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“I trust you.”
“Then keep you eyes closed!”
“You’re so bossy,” he sighed.
“You like it.”
“I never said that,” his cheeks flushed ever so slightly.
Once you’d finished, you reached for another damp pad to wipe away the cleanser. “There we go.”
“Done?” He opened one eye cautiously.
“Step one.”
“There are more?” He groaned.
“There are four more.”
“Four?”
“Let’s not be dramatic now.”
“I’ve been tricked.”
“You’ll thank me later.”
He wasn’t convinced but you picked up a toner bottle regardless. “This one is easy.”
“What does it do?”
“It helps prepare your skin for the next products.”
“So… it’s preparing me for more torture.”
“It’s not torture,” you snorted.
“Let me smell it,” he held out his hand.
You poured a little onto his fingers before he smelled them. “It smells… like plants.”
“That’s lavender babe.”
“I was close.”
“You were not.”
“I got the nature part right,” he grinned.
You dabbed the toner across his face, watching as his expression relaxed more with every gentle touch. His shoulders slowly dropped and his breathing became slower.
“You’ve gone quiet,” you noticed.
“Hmm?”
“I thought this was torture.”
“It was.”
“But?”
He opened his eyes just enough to look at you. “It’s relaxing.”
“Ha! I knew it,” you smiled triumphantly.
“Don’t get used to being right.”
“I always am.”
“You wish.”
You reached for the small bottle of serum. “This is my favourite.”
“Because?”
“It makes your skin really soft.”
“I think my skin is already soft,” he shrugged.
You placed a drop on each cheek before gently massaging it in with your fingertips.
“Oh.” His voice came out quieter than expected.
“What?”
“That feels nice.”
“I know.”
Your fingers traced gentle circles over his cheeks before moving along his jawline. Without even realising it, Kimi leaned into your touch. Just slightly.
“You are enjoying this.”
“I’m tolerating it.”
“Mhm.”
“I am.”
“You’ve literally leaned into my hand.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I was… adjusting.”
“Adjusting?” You laughed, almost dropping the serum bottle.
“Yes?”
“That’s your excuse?”
“It’s a good excuse.”
“I really isn’t.”
He tried to hide his smile but failed miserably. You screwed the lid back onto the serum before picking up the moisturiser.
“The final important step.”
“Finally.”
“Don’t sound so excited,” you reply sarcastically.
“I’ve had cream rubbed on my face for fifteen minutes.”
“You’ve been pampered for fifteen minutes.”
“There’s a difference?”
“There is when you’re dating me.”
“I can’t argue with that,” he chuckled.
Scooping a small amount onto your fingertips, you gently smoothed it across his skin. His eyes closed once more and this time they stayed closed.
Your movements became slower, more absent minded than anything, your thumbs brushing softly over his cheekbones before your hands settled briefly on either side of his face.
“You have really nice skin,” you murmured.
“So all this wasn’t necessary?”
“Oh it was necessary.”
He smiled with his eyes still closed.
“You just wanted an excuse to play with my face.”
You opened your mouth to deny it. Nothing came out. Because he wasn’t entirely wrong.
“I knew it,” he whispered, sounding far too pleased with himself.
You lightly tapped his nose. “Don’t ruin my moment.”
“I’m just saying.”
“You’ve enjoyed this whole thing.”
“I’ll admit…” he slowly opened his eyes, meeting yours. “… I can see why you like doing it.”
The admission made your heart melt. “You can?”
He nodded. “It’s peaceful.”
For a moment neither of you spoke, you simply admired him. His curls were still being held back by the ridiculous teddy bear headband, his skin looked fresh and slightly dewy, and there was a softness in his expression that only ever appeared when the two of you were completely alone.
He caught you staring. “What?”
“You look pretty.”
His ears instantly turned pink. “Pretty?”
“Mhm.”
“No one’s ever called me pretty.”
“Well I’m starting now.”
He ducked his head with a shy laugh. “I think handsome would’ve sounded cooler.”
“But you’re pretty.”
“I race Formula One cars.”
“And you’re still pretty.”
He shook his head, laughing to himself. “I can’t win with you.”
“Nope.”
You reached up, gently pulling the teddy bear headband off his head. His curls immediately flopped back into place, messy from being pushed back. Without thinking, you ran your fingers through them, fixing a few strands that had fallen over his forehead. Kimi watched you the entire time. Then, before you could pull your hand away, he caught it in his own. He brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing the softest kiss against them.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For taking care of me.”
Your heart practically melted. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“I know but I wanted to.”
Then, with the most smug expression you’d ever seen, he reached for your moisturiser.
“So…”
“So?” You raised an eyebrow.
“When do we do this again?”
A grin spread across your face. “I thought it was torture.”
He looked away innocently. “I may have changed my mind.”
Hey! I've finished posting for tonight but I wanna know what you guys would prefer for me to get started on tomorrow? Let me know. Also any specific requests you have leave them in my inbox and I will pick them up and do my best to complete them ❤️
